


Postremo

by starseeker95



Series: Alternatum [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Amica Endurae, Conjunx Endura, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Mech Preg, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, the sugar you've been waiting for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseeker95/pseuds/starseeker95
Summary: After believing it was impossible, Drift and Ratchet receive the news they thought they'd never get... a miracle that they'd long given up on.





	1. Chapter 1

Drift was looking at him funny.

With a dismissive eyeroll, Ratchet turned his back on his worried conjunx. “It’s likely a virus, something I caught at the last stop over.” When he heard no retreating steps, the medic turned back to find Drift still watching him. “Drift. It’s nothing. I guarantee it.”

“I’d still feel better if First Aid took a look at you. Purging for three cycles-“

“Could be some illness. Now, I have things to do. I’m already late to check up on Swiftblaze and Rodimus. After I’m finished there, I’ll meet you at the hab.”

The swordsmech gave his mate a considering look before moving a little closer. The annoyance in Ratchet’s field dissolved as the white speedster leaned in and gave his heated cheek a soft kiss. When Drift pulled away, he was smirking. “Just get back soon. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? Our anniversary isn’t for two more cycles.” Ratchet didn’t miss the excitement that echoed through his handsome mate’s field. 

When Drift came close enough to rub their chest plating together, the former CMO was reminded of how touchy-feely the swordsmech had been lately. Drift purred in his throat, his optics darting to the medbay door. “True. But I don’t need a reason to show my conjunx how much I love him, do I?”

Ratchet swatted at the other mech, making Drift dance away with a giggle. As he did, the medic couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on the swordsmech’s swaying hips. Just the sight of his mate’s curvy thighs sent a tingle through his lower abdomen-

The ambulance shook his helm impatiently. The medbay was no place for such thoughts. “I’ll join you at the hab shortly. Try not to get into too much trouble until then.”

“Trouble?” Drift feigned insult as he backed away toward the medbay door, a hand pressed to his chest plates. “Me? Oh, Ratch, I think you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“Is that so?”

The swordsmech gave him a crooked grin, flashing his denta. He knew that the sight of his fangs usually got Ratchet going. Drift peeked coquettishly back at his mate as he pulled the door closed behind himself. “Oh, yes. I have something special planned just for you.”

The old medic narrowed his optics, allowing his mouth to turn upward a little. “Do I get a hint?”

“Your hands.” 

The speedster departed, winking at Ratchet before pulling the door closed with a click.

The former CMO flexed his hands, his processor working as he wondered what kind of pleasures Drift had planned for them. It had been far too long since his hands had been given some proper attention. The thought of Drift’s mouth on his fingers-

Ratchet felt heat pool in his belly at the thought. But instead of his spike warming under his modesty panel, the medic felt something else entirely. He froze where he’d turned to stack datapads as a thick glob of lubricant splashed against his closed panel. 

The former CMO’s valve clenched down, pulsing along with his sparkspin as it lubricated and drooled.

Ratchet wasn’t typically a valve mech. But for some reason, his interaction with Drift… It had made him undeniably wet. The medic squirmed uncomfortably, feeling it as more of his arousal coated the inside of his array. Much more and he feared it would begin leaking form the seams. 

Desperate to shake off the feeling in his valve and annoyed with his own lack of control, the ambulance abandoned the datapads on his desk and quickly made his way out of the medbay. The sooner he paid Rodimus and Ultra Magnus a visit, the sooner he could resolve whatever was going on in his array-

A new roil of nausea twisted his tanks, causing the battle-seasoned mech to stop upon entering the hallway. It only lasted a klik, but it was enough to give Ratchet pause. Before he could think too much about it, his comm. pinged. 

A quick glance at his HUD drew an exasperated sigh from his vents. :I’m on my way, Rodimus, I didn’t forget.: _Slagging first-time creators and their imagined problems- ___

__:Oh! Yeah, I was just checking. ‘Blaze is excited to see you! Is Drift coming?:_ _

__The medic rolled his optics, straightened, and continued down the hallway. :He is a sparkling. Swiftblaze isn’t excited to see me and no, Drift isn’t coming.:_ _

__:Awww. Drift’s his favorite.: There was a pause over the comm.; it was likely that the prime was baby-talking to his creation. :And he does too get excited! His winglets flutter when he sees you.:_ _

__:That means he’s sensing his surroundings. Not that he’s happy to see me.:_ _

__Another pause came over the comm. before Rodimus spoke again, his voice triumphant. :I just asked him and he squealed. He’s definitely excited to see you.:_ _

__Down below, Ratchet felt another drop of lubricant splatter against the inside of his modesty panel. Suppressing a moan and a curse, the old medic forced himself to push Drift’s provocative teasing to the back of his processor. This was definitely not the time to get all heated up._ _

__:Ratchet?:_ _

__:Yes, yes. I’ll be there soon, Rodimus.:_ _

__:You okay?: The worry was obvious in the captain’s voice._ _

__:Of course I’m okay. You sound like Drift.:_ _

__Rodimus’ sounded distracted then, likely playing with Swiftblaze. :You seem… strained. And Drift said you’d been sick-:_ _

__The former CMO pulled up short when he reached the captain’s suite. :It’s nothing. I wouldn’t come see Swiftblaze if I thought it was dangerous or transmittable. Now, are you going to open up and let me do my job, or continue to try and mother hen me?:_ _

__Before Ratchet had finished speaking, the habsuite door was sliding open._ _

__As he stepped inside, Ratchet forced away the persistent feeling of arousal that lingered in his field and array. He would deal with it later; right now he had a job to do. This was not the time to be acting like a sealed mech in his first heat cycle._ _

__Despite his efforts, his valve remained slick and ready beneath his panels, eager to be touched by none other than Drift. Ratchet grumbled with irritation, resisting the urge to squirm in his plating. Maybe he’d go see First Aid after all. Even Ratchet valued a second opinion when it came to diagnosing himself._ _

__Without another thought about what Drift had planned for their shared evening, the experienced medic entered the hab to check up on the Lost Light’s youngest crew member._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Swiftblaze screeched happily at the sight of the medic, making Ratchet cringe as he came into the hab. The mechling was perched in his carrier’s hands, lifted high in the air where he could flex his wings without taking out anyone’s optics.

pon hearing his sparkling call out, Rodimus lowered Swiftblaze back into his lap and turned to see the door over the back of the couch. “Ratch! Hey! See, I told you he likes seeing you.”

Muttering, the medic came close enough for Swiftblaze to reach out and take his finger in a vice grip. Ratchet grunted, surprised by the strength in the little one’s hand. “Magnus on the bridge?”

“Yeah, he said he’d try to be back, but he isn’t.” Something passed through the young prime’s field, but it was gone before Ratchet could identify it. “Anyway! You wanna go ahead and get started?”

The ambulance considered his captain for a moment before nodding. “If that’s alright, sure.”

Moving around the couch, Ratchet took his seat beside Rodimus, facing the vidscreen. Swiftblaze, attentive for his age, watched the medic’s every move. Already used to the ritual, the little triple changer crawled willingly into his second favorite visitor’s lap.

Ratchet reached to unspool his medical cables. They’d done this every cycle since Swiftblaze had emerged, checking for abnormal spark activity that would indicate any issues with growth. It had become a routine: Ratchet would come in, Swiftblaze would sit on his lap. Then at the end, if he’d been good, the little sparkling was allowed an energon treat.

But today was different.

The old medic’s processor was far away, his hands moving on autopilot as he moved to open the sparkling’s medical ports. The nausea had come back upon sitting down and his helm felt like it was spinning. He really needed to watch his fuel intake. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, after all-

Rodimus was chattering away as usual, bragging over whatever new thing his first born had learned to do. “-he actually floated a little! Just with his thrusters! Primus, I wish Drift had seen-“

Ratchet hummed, only half listening as he tried to calm his suddenly racing spark. It felt almost like it was trying to crawl up and out of his intake. Was it suddenly warmer in the hab? The former CMO blinked quickly, trying to swallow down the taste of old energon that was coating his throat-

Something pushed his chest.

He looked down, surprised.

Swiftblaze had pressed himself flush against the medic, chirring with wide optics. Their ruby color flashed brightly every few kliks and the mechling smiled wide.

“’Blaze?” Beside Ratchet, Rodimus was half out of his seat, his field awash with anxiety a the sight of his creation. From his angle, it appeared that Swiftblaze had collapsed forward onto the doctor’s chest plates. “Ratchet, what’s wrong with him? Is he okay?”

At a loss, the older mech watched the sparkling as it nuzzled against his chest seam, right where it would open over his spark. Swiftblaze turned his face up to Ratchet, released a soft purr before placing a sloppy kiss against the seam. 

The action did something to him. Ratchet felt a sudden wave of affection toward the bitlet, an unexpected urge to protect him and-

What in the Pit?

As Ratchet continued to stare down at the sparkling in his lap, Rodimus laughed. “Looks like Drift taught him how to kiss after all. Lucky you!” Excitedly, the carrier reached over and lifted Swiftblaze into his arms. “Can I get a kiss too? Why didn’t you kiss me first?! No fair!”

Giggling, the triple changer planted a wet kiss on his creator’s mouth. Ratchet watched, still stunned but no longer nauseous as Swiftblaze continued to interact with his carrier, trilling and squealing as the pair traded kisses and gentle pets.

_Longing. Hunger. ___

__Ratchet forced himself to look away._ _

__“Uh, Ratchet?”_ _

__The medic looked up to find Rodimus watching him. The prime’s field reached, barely perceivable as it extended toward the other mech. Ratchet pulled his own field away, but not before he felt the sadness and apology in the speedster’s. He didn’t want anyone’s pity._ _

__But the young prime persisted, even reaching out to touch Ratchet’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Why? Nothing you did.” Quickly and with trembling fingers, Ratchet shoved his medical cables away. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the red mech’s optics, not with the pressure building behind his own. “His readings are normal, everything appears to be going well. I’ll be back the same time tomorrow.”_ _

__Ratchet hated to think that he fled. But his voice had nearly broken twice already. Respectfully and pointedly refusing to look at Swiftblaze, even as the little mechling peeped at him, the former CMO left the hab without another word. It was only when he was halfway home that he realized… he’d forgotten to give the sparkling a treat._ _

__

__~o0o~_ _

__

__When he finally reached his own hab, it was far earlier than usual. Drift hadn’t returned from the bridge yet, leaving the space quiet and colorless in his absence. It was perfect for Ratchet’s mood._ _

__Though engex would’ve likely proved helpful, the old medic’s tanks rolled at the thought. He left it in the cabinet and took his place on the couch, sitting stiffly and his hands on his knees. Besides, Drift refused to interface when either of them were under any kind of influence anyway._ _

__Interface. Ratchet leaned forward, resting his face in his hands._ _

__The swordsmech had something planned this night cycle for their anniversary. Though it would no doubt be wonderful, Ratchet wasn’t sure if he could do it._ _

__Swiftblaze’s happy, lilting voice. The way he and Rodimus interacted with each other… No. No. He and Drift had been through all of this-_ _

__A hiccup escaped from Ratchet’s intake, taking him by surprise. A tear also broke loose, carving a cool trail from his left optic. He froze as it soaked into his finger seams, tickling the finely tuned sensors._ _

__What in the Pit was wrong with him? This was old news. Ratchet had tried to never let his conjunx feel guilty for it, he truly had. He’d accepted it. He loved Drift anyway, would follow him to the ends of the universe. He’d done it once and he’d do it all over again._ _

__A ragged sob came, and then another after that. What was wrong with him?_ _

__He couldn’t stop them, the tears and the gasping vents. It wasn’t Drift’s fault, it truly wasn’t. The white speedster had been through so much hardship in his young life. It was a miracle that he was even alive after half of the things he’d been through. Why couldn’t Ratchet just be happy with what he did have instead of wishing things were different?_ _

__“Ratch?”_ _

__The medic jerked at the sound of his name, recognizing the voice that spoke it. Hurriedly, he hauled in his field and pulled in a deep vent. Ratchet looked up and left, back to the habsuite door._ _

__Drift stood there, beautiful as ever. His helm was cocked to the side, studying his mate on the couch. Ratchet hid the jolt of self-loathing he felt at the sight of the swordsmech that he called his mate. Drift deserved far better._ _

__The mech in the doorway took two tentative steps before he spotted the tearstains on Ratchet’s face. “Ratchet? Did something happen in the medbay? Are you alright?”  
Ratchet never cried. Well, maybe not never, but it was a rare thing to see. The fact that he was crying openly in the living area sent alarms off across Drift’s processor. What was going on?_ _

__Slowly and with caution, the swordsmech made his way toward his mate, taking a seat on the other end of couch. He wasn’t sure what to do as he watched his mate struggle, wanted more than anything to take Ratchet into his arms and comfort him. “Ratch-“_ _

__“It’s nothing. How was the bridge?”_ _

__“The bridge isn’t important right now.” Drift was treated to a glare and he relaxed some. That was a little closer to the Ratchet that he knew._ _

__Still wary, the TIC rested his hand on his mate’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help you? Warmed energon maybe?”_ _

__“Didn’t you have a surprise planned for tonight?” Ratchet turned to face him, his optics dim and tired. Pain still radiated from his field, tamped down, but still there all the same._ _

__Drift gave his mate a half smile. “Yeah, but it can wait. Don’t try and change the subject.”_ _

__Instead of glaring as Drift expected him to, Ratchet scooted closer to him. Wordlessly, he buried his face against his conjunx’s neck cables, nestling against the swordsmech’s chest plates. Usually, such a position was reversed._ _

__Carefully, the TIC wrapped his arms and his field around his medic, confused and even more worried than he had been kliks earlier. Ratchet was acting strange. It wasn’t like him to be so… Un-sassy. Submissive._ _

__Ratchet lifted himself slightly to settle his chin on the other mech’s shoulder, his mouth brushing at Drift’s audial as he whispered. “I want to interface.”_ _

__“Ratchet, we don’t have to-“_ _

__“No, I want to.” The old medic’s optics were a little brighter when he pulled back, his field opening a little. “I really, really want to.”_ _

__Drift couldn’t resist hesitating. He hated to do something like that right now. Especially when he’d walked in on his mate crying on their couch. Despite Ratchet refusing to talk about it, Drift had an idea of what may have caused such an outburst._ _

__Before he could say anything though, the ambulance was leaning forward again, pushing against his mate. Ratchet’s vents were warm against the swordsmech’s face and Drift breathed in, almost tasting the arousal in his conjunx’s blooming field. Softly, they kissed, chastely at first and then desperately._ _

__When he finally pulled away, Ratchet vents were fast and uneven. There was something about his field-_ _

__Under his panel, Drift felt his spike bump against the housing, pressurizing as he stared deep into his mate’s optics. When Ratchet blinked at him, slowly, lethargically, the swordsmech felt something tighten in his lower chassis, just behind his spike housing._ _

__The sudden urge to spike Ratchet nearly overwhelmed him. Drift felt himself swallow convulsively, unused to the feeling. Ratchet must've felt his mate's arousal in his his field as his cheek plates flushed, his optics full of becoming, but unfamiliar fire._ _

__When the medic leaned forward a third time, it was to murmur into his audial. Ratchet’s words took his breath away, their raw quality unusual for the other mech. The urgency in them nearly had the swordsmech’s panels opening of their own accord._ _

__“I need you tonight, Drift. I need you now.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who am I gonna see at TFcon Chicago? :D


	3. Chapter 3

Drift inhaled deeply as he followed his mate into the berthroom. Behind his panel, his spike had begun to feel pinched in its housing, almost like it was trying to pressurize without being released. The swordsmech forced down the whine that formed in his throat, trying not to imagine the warm heat it would soon be enveloped in-

He could count the times he’d used his pike with Ratchet on his two hands. The medic had always preferred it that way and Drift hadn’t complained once, more than happy to be split open by the medic’s thick member. But for whatever reason, tonight was different. His earlier excitement about showing Ratchet the surprise he’d gotten him was quickly replaced with a different, more carnal kind of excitement. 

Ratchet sat back on the berth, his optics ablaze as he slowly lay himself down. As if in a daze, Drift followed after, soon finding himself between the other mech’s thighs. A pair of demanding lips came up to tug at his neck cables, hot and sloppy with oral lubricant. All around him, Drift could sense Ratchet’s field, sodden with arousal and need as he moved to catch the swordsmech’s optic. The medic was already panting a little through his vents.

Pausing, Drift pulled back. “Ratch. You sure you’re okay?” His mate was awfully revved up for having just started.

“Of course I am. Why?”

“You smell like… almost like a heat cycle, but… different?”

Beneath him, the older mech glared, clearly unimpressed. “You’re gonna ruin the mood.”

“I’m not trying to. You just… something’s different and I don’t know what. You didn’t go to see First Aid did you?”

Drift felt the mech under him sigh heavily before he felt himself being gripped by the shoulders and pushed away. Though he wanted to resist, the swordsmech allowed himself to be moved and retreated off of his mate to sit back on his knees. Ratchet sat up to face him, his optics suddenly weary and lacking the fire they’d held only kliks earlier. “No, slaggit, I haven’t seen him and I’m not going to. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just…”

“You just what?” The speedster watched his mate’s face as several emotions crossed Ratchet’s expressive features. He saw pain, sorrow, resolve, acceptance. All of them flitted through the other mech’s field as well and Drift knew then that his guess as to why Ratchet had been crying was correct. “You… went to see Roddy and Swiftblaze today didn’t you?”

“You know I did. I do every day. To check his spark-“ 

“First Aid can do that. Velocity can do it too.”

Ratchet looked away again and Drift detected the glint of tears in his optics. Guilt blossomed again in the swordsmech’s field, coupled with an overwhelming anger. It wasn’t directed at his mate of course. He was angry with himself.

He’d made poor choices in his life. He’d been a buymech once, had sold his body for his meals and for drugs. Drift had used the drugs to escape the pain his body had been forced to endure in those cycles so long ago. When he’d joined the Decepticons, he’d sold his frame again so that he could feed himself and so that maybe someday he would help bring about justice for all the wrongs he’d been subjected to. He took the drugs to forget how low he’d stooped to survive.

But he’d been so wrong there. The drugs had been nearly impossible to get away from, often aiding him in surviving the horrors of war and the things that he’d done. It had helped hide the faces of the mechs and femmes he’d so mercilessly killed.

Drift had ruined himself for his mate. He had tried to outrun the things he’d done and had striven to make everything right. But his body was scarred deeply from the abuse it had taken, the abuse he’d subjected it to. Now, as Ratchet sat in their berth, tears flooding his optics, Drift knew that there was only himself to blame for the anguish in his conjunx’s spark.

Suddenly unable to look at Ratchet, the speedster tried to run. If he couldn’t fix it, then he could at least leave his distraught mate in peace-

A strong hand grabbed his arm before Drift could make it off of the berth.

When he turned to look back, Drift found Ratchet holding him on the berth. The medic swallowed thickly, his field begging. For what, the swordsmech didn’t know. Primus knew, he couldn’t give Ratchet what he longed for the most.

“I still want you. I will always want you, Drift. No matter what happens or what happened before. I will always come after you.”

“Ratchet, I’m so sorry-“

“Come here.”

Overwhelmed, Drift quickly pressed himself against his mate, bowling them both over to lay in the berth. It wasn’t long before they were thoroughly entangled together, their limbs entwined as they held on tightly to each other. Ratchet’s voice was rough with unshed tears. “Don’t ever run away from me, sweetspark. I’d only chase you down and bring you home again.”

The swordsmech surprised himself by choking out a sob. He always felt so raw, so exposed in Ratchet’s presence. He loved the cranky old medic more than anything. Drift would’ve given his own life willingly for his conjunx. But the only thing that Drift couldn’t give him was the only thing that could truly make Ratchet happy.

“Drift?”

The TIC returned his attention to his conjunx’s face. “Huh?”

Ratchet squirmed, his cheeks ruddy. Drift could still smell the pheromones coming off of the other mech, could taste how badly his mate wanted him. Frustrated, the medic muttered something under his breath.

The swordsmech leaned forward and brushed his lips across the side of Ratchet’s face, drawing a shiver from the former CMO. “I love you, Ratch. But I don’t want to interface until you let First Aid check you out. Just to make sure.”

Though his annoyance was clear in the medic’s field, Ratchet’s optics dimmed slightly as he saw the logic in Drift’s argument. “Fine. Will you stop hounding me if I see him tomorrow?”

Drift smiled and nodded. He lifted one of his hands to caress lightly at his conjunx’s jawline and felt it as Ratchet gave another full body shiver. Primus, he really was wound tight. 

Wiggling even closer, Drift placed another kiss on his mate’s too-warm chevron. “You know I do it because I care.” 

Ratchet continued to mutter as they settled down together, trading nuzzles and kisses until the desire in the medic’s field was replaced with peaceful drowsiness. Drift held him tightly, keeping his own field a mellow lullaby against his mate’s armor. Humming an old prayer, the swordsmech took one of the medic’s sensitive hands into his own and began to gently rub the tension out of it, digit by digit.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

Drift didn’t miss the slurred quality of Ratchet’s voice as he continued coaxing his mate into recharge. “Nah, I doubt that. It’d take a lot more than me to take out the famous Hatchet.”

The surly medic snorted, but snuggled closer all the same. His chassis was warmer than usual where he’d pressed his plating against Drift’s. 

Ratchet surprised his mate even further by falling quickly into recharge. Usually, the old medic had trouble calming down enough to sleep, his processor spinning with all that he had given himself to do in the medbay. Ratchet was known for always being busy and for failing far too often to refuel and take the allotted break times. But tonight he went easily, snoring softly where he was pressed flush against Drift’s body.

Unsure of what to think of his worn out conjunx, the swordsmech pulled Ratchet even more securely into his arms. He prayed that whatever was going on with Ratchet was easy to fix and nothing too serious.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a long day on the bridge. Not because there was a lot to do, however. It was so long because it was so quiet.

As Rodimus made his way back to his and Ultra Magnus’ shared hab, he thought of how he used to hunger for action, for excitement. Nowadays, he enjoyed it. Quiet days on the bridge meant that there was no danger to protect his sparkling from. Such cycles meant that he could relax. Well, as much as any new creator could relax, that is. So, in summary, though his shift had been boring, the prime had been grateful for the peace.

The red speedster rounded the final corner on the way to his hab, feeling a distinct ache in his chest. Since the emergence of his sparkling, Ratchet had barred him from bonding with his amica. 

If Rodimus was feeling the pull, then he was certain that Drift was too. Maybe once he put Swiftblaze down to nap, his friend would feel up to a merge. That is, if the often adventurous sparkling hadn’t completely exhausted the babysitting swordsmech.

Rodimus cued his habsuite door open, a greeting prepared on his vocalizer. But the sight that greeted him had him falling silent, a gentle smile curving his lips.

Drift lay curled up on the couch in the living area, a bundle visible in the cage of his arms. Cradled against his guardian’s chest was Swiftblaze, his tiny mouth open as his body relaxed fully in recharge. He had been swaddled carefully, his delicate limbs all wrapped up in softness so that he could fall into recharge feeling safe and secure. As if that weren’t enough, Drift had virtually contorted himself so that the mechling was tucked under his chin and behind his bent knees at the same time. It was almost as if the swordsmech feared that someone would try and take him away.

Seeing his amica and sparkling sleeping in such a position caused both love and pain to pass through Rodimus’ spark. He was happy that his precious Swiftblaze got on so famously with the white mech. But at the same time, the young prime knew how desperate Drift’s grip truly was. He and Ratchet had tried for a sparkling for so long…

Rodimus remembered merging with Drift after they’d found out why it appeared that neither Drift nor Ratchet could conceive. Drift had been inconsolable that nightcycle, unable to focus on anything as he stared into space and tears slid freely down his pale cheeks. “My fault… my fault…”

The prime had gathered his broken friend against himself, offering to share some of the pain. At first, Drift had refused, insistent that he was responsible and needed to feel it alone. It was only upon Ratchet’s instance that the swordsmech allowed himself to be led to berth. Once there, Rodimus had cuddled his amica tightly, holding Drift’s shaking form in his arms all nightcycle long.

Reluctantly, Rodimus moved to lightly tap the other speedster’s shoulder. “Drifter, time to wake up.”

The swordsmech jumped, saw that it was Rodimus, and then immediately looked down to make sure that he hadn’t jostled Swiftblaze. Both mechs sighed when the sparkling stayed in peaceful recharge. Drift blinked sleepily and returned his attention to his friend. “Hey. How’s the bridge?”

“She’s good,” Rodimus whispered, bending to take his creation from his rising amica’s hold. “Hey, do you wanna merge maybe? Once I put ‘Blaze down for the rest of his nap?”

Drift’s gaze stayed on the mechling in the prime’s hands as he followed Rodimus to the crib on the other side of the room. “Yeah, sure.”

Rodimus lay Swiftblaze’s little form down in the plush softness of the crib, fluffing the blankets around him so that the sparkling couldn’t roll onto his face. It was a trick that Ratchet had taught him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

That seemed to get Drift’s attention as he swiveled his optics away from the sparkling and back to his amica. “Yes, of course I do. Sorry. It’s just…” The white mech sighed heavily, like venting was suddenly a struggle. “Ratchet was upset last night.”

“What about?” Rodimus had a feeling that he already knew why the medic was sad. Drift was always visiting Swiftblaze, just as Ratchet did everyday to check the mechling’s spark. Even though First Aid or Velocity could do it, Ratchet insisted on being the little one’s primary doctor. Even though Tailgate and Cyclonus had volunteered to care for Swiftblaze, Drift had refused to consider it and talked his amica into letting him keep the triple changer every shift that he and Ultra Magnus were on the bridge.

When Drift hesitated, the prime saved his friend from having to talk about the painful subject. “Let’s just sit, okay? We can merge later. Do you want some fuel?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” The white swordsmech paused, his optics not quite meeting those of his friend’s. “Thanks, Roddy.”

“No problem at all, sweetspark. You know I love you, right?”

A quiet sigh and a final glance at the crib. “Yeah. Love you too.”

 

~o0o~

 

Ratchet griped the whole way to the medbay. He’d called First Aid earlier that morningcycle and had explained his symptoms. He was also certain to add that he knew nothing was wrong and that the whole thing was Drift’s idea. Knowing that his friend and former superior had a bad habit of downplaying anything that involved his own health and wellbeing, the new CMO simply nodded along with a patient smile.

The ambulance had woken with nausea and had found himself unable to even think about the taste of energon. His valve had also drawn his immediate attention when he found it to be lubricating heavily enough to seep from behind his panels and onto the berth. He’d been quick to hide the embarrassing evidence from a still-recharging Drift, wiping up the worst of it with a cloth.

He nearly stomped into the medbay upon arriving, drawing the optics of First Aid who stood at the back near one of the private rooms. “Well? Let’s get this over with. I have better things to do than lay around in a mediberth all cycle.”

Concealing a smirk, First Aid casually waved the other medic into one of the private rooms. Being the mate of the Third-in-Command did have its perks.

Once the grumpy mech had seated himself on the mediberth and had reined in the worst of his disgruntled field, First Aid began the usual preliminary examination questions. Why are you here today? When did this start? Ratchet mumbled his answers, clearly unwilling to cooperate even though the other medic was his peer. 

“So you said you’re having nausea? When did that start? Any purging?”

“Yes, purging. Almost every cycle for the past four now.”

First Aid quickly jotted down notes on his datapad, his visor dim in thought. “Any strange frame functioning? For instance, shortness of vents or pain during interface?”

Ratchet growled, rolling his optics ceilingward. “No, not particularly. Nothing more than what would be present during a heat cycle, which is likely what I think this is the beginning of.”

“…What would those symptoms be then?”

It was rare for the older medic to blush. “Slightly elevated frame temperature… unusually high libido… excessive valve lubrication… Slag it, First Aid, you know what the symptoms of a heat cycle are!”

More notes were quickly scrawled on the datapad before First Aid turned to one of the cabinets. Ratchet’s optics widened when the CMO pulled a testing swab kit.   
Those were only used if…

“First Aid, please don’t.”

The other medic placed the kit on the edge of the berth and met Ratchet’s gaze squarely. “I know, Ratchet. But it’s too soon after your last heat cycle for it to be that and you know it. If this comes back negative, then I’ll start testing for other ailments.”

When First Aid picked up the kit and moved toward the end of the berth, the other mech clenched his legs together. His optics were glassy when the new CMO looked up at him in confusion. “I can’t, Aid. I can’t watch that vial again-“

“I’ll take it out of the room then. I won’t even mention it when I go check it. Besides, this method also tests for any other issues that may be causing so much lubricant and nausea. You know that.”

Slowly, the former CMO allowed himself to be guided flat onto the mediberth. He wordlessly allowed his legs to be spread and positioned in the stirrups. First Aid carefully prepped the swab, coating it in artificial lubricant for easier insertion. When the other medic asked, Ratchet triggered open his modesty panel.

A rush of lubricant flowed out, causing the older medic to stiffen on the mediberth. If it hadn’t been for the stirrups, he would’ve closed his legs as cold air suddenly bombarded his over-sensitive valve. Squeezing his optics shut tightly, he fought to stay still as the tip of the swab brushed against his swollen entrance.

“Alright, Ratch. You know I have to ask… How long ago was the last time you and Drift interfaced and he-“

“Just under half a decacycle. Yes, we merged at that time as well.”

The swab sank deeper into his painfully aroused valve, making the medic squirm. How many times had he watched Drift go through this very process, holding his hand every time the test came back negative? Ratchet himself had only ever done it once before, so long ago now. They’d long since given up testing for anything at all.

He groaned as the swab punctured his gestation tank, easily entering through the gel wall to collect a sample of the interior material. Ratchet’s legs jumped again and First Aid moved to hold them open. “Easy. Almost done.”

The other medic resisted the impulse to snarl. It wasn’t First Aid’s fault that he despised this so much. For many conjunx’s, this test meant the start of a new adventure, the beginning of a family. It had only ever brought Ratchet and Drift tears and sparkbreak. 

By the time First Aid finally withdrew the swab and released his legs, Ratchet was trembling. He ignored First Aid’s ‘be right back’ and kept his optics fixed on the ceiling, counting his vents and trying to keep them steady. He wouldn’t tell Drift about the swab test. It was bad enough that he’d opened that can of scraplets the previous cycle, he didn’t need to remind his mate of their misfortune any more than he already had.

So he lay there, unmoving and trying to achieve the blank mask that he wore whenever he was trying to keep his personal life out of the medbay. This was no place to break down, to mourn for something that had never existed to begin with.

When First Aid returned some time later, the old medic didn’t react. Even when the new CMO began speaking to him, Ratchet didn’t hear him, completely immersed in trying to decide what he would tell Drift at the end of the shift. Drift had likely taken the bridge by now-

“Ratchet? Ratchet! Did you hear me? Did you hear what I just said?”

Releasing a sigh, the white mech turned his helm to see First Aid standing right beside him. As he slowly came back to the present, Ratchet soon found himself barraged by the other mech’s field. It was an absolute chaos of excitement, joy-

“Well? What in the Pit is it?"

First Aid’s visor was flashing so rapidly that it was almost blinding to look him in the face. Primus, the medic was actually bouncing on his peds, looking rather unprofessional as he did. “Ratchet, you’re not gonna believe this-“

“Believe what?” What illness could possibly have the other mech so wound up? And _happy?_

The CMO lifted the vial in his hand. It took Ratchet far too long to turn his attention to it as First Aid’s field and bright optical visor continued to make focusing difficult-

Wait.

Ratchet looked away from the vial and back to First Aid. “Not funny. That’s not funny, Aid.”

The other medic was immediately still. Confusion colored his vice. “What? I’m not being funny. This is real!”

Ratchet could feel his throat tightening, his optics filled with barely held off tears. “Stop this. If this is someone’s idea of a joke…”

He looked back at the vial. The fluid within was thick, swirling with a silvery texture as the vial was jostled in First Aid’s hand. Ratchet choked on a poorly concealed sob. He couldn’t believe that First Aid would pull something like this, especially with him. Didn’t he understand how painful it was already?

“Ratchet, I’m not joking.” The red and white mech came close enough that he could press the vial into his former superior’s hand. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Ratchet-“ First Aid’s voice was sincere, his field projecting how serious he was. “This isn’t a joke. I swear to you.”

Ratchet’s venting had ceased completely as he looked again at the vial in his fingers. The silver fluid winked back at him, glimmering as he turned it in the light. “This is impossible.”

“I triple checked it, Ratch. This is really happening.”

First Aid moved and took the other medic’s hand in his own, the first time he’d ever done so without formally shaking the former CMO’s hand. The red and white mech held it comfortingly now and Ratchet was thankful for the anchoring touch. This felt far too much like a dream.

The smile was obvious in First Aid’s voice. “Congratulations, Ratch. You’re sparked.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy...

When Ratchet finally made it back to his hab, he was still in a daze. First Aid had attempted to give him a list of vitamins to take and an equally lengthy list of symptoms to watch out for. But after hearing the other medic tell him that he was sparked, Ratchet hadn’t been able to absorb anything else.

_You’re sparked. ___

__He didn’t fully believe it as he finally took a seat in his and Drift’s shared hab. How? They’d been told this was impossible, scans of Drift’s spark and body had proven it. Tests had been run, all concluding that his body was too damaged, too injured to ever produce and sustain life. Even if Ratchet had been the one to carry, the swordsmech had been deemed infertile due to his spark integrity being compromised. The drugs had damaged his spark and his gestation tank the most, leaving them with enough scarring to prevent a successful newspark attachment._ _

__But First Aid had told him that he was sparked. He was sparked._ _

__Ratchet leaned forward where he sat, resting his elbows on his knees and then his face in his hands. The old medic wasn’t a believer in Primus or of any higher power. But as he sat there in the living area, he pressed a hand to his chest plates. Though he always rolled his optics and snorted when new creators said they could feel the newspark early on, Ratchet was almost certain that he could feel it stirring at the edge of his consciousness._ _

__This was real. This was happening._ _

__The realization brought tears to his optics. They’d wanted this for so long-_ _

__The doctor checked his HUD. Soon, Drift would be home. Ratchet tried to imagine the look on his conjunx’s face when he told him the news. The other mech had ached to be a creator for so long… Ratchet couldn’t wait to tell him that he would soon be a sire._ _

__The older medic could feel his fuel pump speeding along as he became more and more excited to tell his mate. Usually, he was the calm one of their bond, the mature one who took control of situations. But right now, he felt as if he was floating, like he was aloft outside of himself and watching his deepest wish unfold from afar._ _

__How had this happened? How was it possible? The tests had been certain! Yet here he was, a newspark in his chest. True, it was still undeterminable from his spark, but there all the same._ _

__He could still see the silver fluid, swirling around lazily in that vial. If he hadn’t seen it with his own optics, he wouldn’t have believed it._ _

__At first, he hadn’t. Ratchet hadn’t accepted the news until he’d forced First Aid to test two more vials of solution. Only when he saw all three sitting on the counter before him, all shining and unmistakably silver, did the ambulance allow himself to believe._ _

__Ratchet almost missed it, he was so immersed in his own thoughts._ _

__Behind him, the habsuite door pinged, indicating a correctly entered code. A klik later, Drift’s calm field preceded him into the room._ _

__“Hey, sweetspark. How are you feeling?” Ratchet felt gentle but hesitant fingertips rest on his shoulders. He didn’t respond as they slowly began to massage at the joints’ inner workings. “Did you go to see First Aid this cycle?”_ _

__Still unable to form sentences, the medic managed to nod slowly in acknowledgement. He still couldn’t see his mate where Drift was leaning over the back of the couch._ _

__The speedster’s field was awash with exhaustion and concern as he released his mate’s shoulders and made his way around the side of the couch. Ratchet didn’t turn his helm as his mate sat down beside him. He distantly felt Drift sink into the fabric._ _

__Ratchet still found himself unable to look over at his conjunx as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of hearing the news himself. He was sparked. They were sparked-_ _

__“Ratch? What did he say?” Drift was leaning toward him, trying to catch Ratchet’s optics. Distress was obvious in his voice as he reached to grasp one of the medic’s limp hands. “Ratchet, you’re scaring me-“_ _

__The former CMO turned slowly to look at his mate. Drift pulled his lips into a half smile, his face as beautiful as it had ever been. Ratchet couldn’t help but stare at it for a klik or two before he turned his hand to grip the swordsmech’s back. “Drift…”_ _

__The speedster lifted his free hand and drew his thumb across Ratchet’s jawline, his optics soft. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”_ _

__“It’s not bad, Drift.”_ _

__“Well that’s good at least.”_ _

__Silence fell between them. Ratchet felt the shock beginning to wear away, leaving his chest full and light at the same time. He blinked several times as he replayed everything that had happened at the medbay a final time. This was real. This was really happening!_ _

__Sensing the change in his conjunx’s field, Drift cocked his helm sideways. He watched carefully as a smile crept onto Ratchet usually stern face. The doctor’s field was all around him, painted in colors that the swordsmech had never seen in Ratchet’s field before._ _

__The medic moved to clasp both of his own hands over Drift’s one. His vocalizer reset twice. “Drift… I’m sparked. We’re sparked.”_ _

__At first, the speedster said nothing. His optics widened slightly and stayed that way, but rather than that, he didn’t move._ _

__“Did you hear me, love?”_ _

__“You can’t be. You- you can’t.”_ _

__Drift’s voice was hoarse as he stared at his mate, through his mate. He wanted to smile and laugh, he really did. The swordsmech didn’t want to break it to Ratchet that someone was messing with them._ _

__Primus, how cruel could they be? Didn’t they know well enough in the medbay how much Ratchet and he had suffered?_ _

__But Ratchet was standing up from beside him, pulling him to stand as well. Unwilling to release his mate’s hand, Drift followed, allowing himself to be dragged to his peds. The medic’s plating glowed in the soft light of their hab, lending him an otherworldly hue as he turned to face his conjunx’s once more. “Drift, I swear to you. I saw the results. Pit, I made him do it two more times before I believed it myself-“_ _

__“We checked- I can’t, Ratch- the tests all said-“_ _

__“They don’t matter anymore, Drift. This is happening. We did it!”_ _

__The white speedster blinked slowly and Ratchet saw the naked hope in his field. It was fragile and small, but there. Drift’s voice was so small that it was almost non-existent, like he thought that speaking out loud would steal this dream out from under him. “We’re… sparked?”_ _

__Ratchet nodded, his smile growing impossibly larger. “Yes, sweetspark. We did it. After everything, we did it. We’re sparked.”_ _

__Drift reached for his mate’s face, cupping the medic’s cheek in his palm. “Ratchet… how? Are you sure?”_ _

__“I’m sure. I saw the swab tests.”_ _

__“We’re sparked. We’re sparked…”_ _

__The words tasted so good. He wanted to yell them on the bridge, to write them on the banner at Swerve’s. Drift wanted everyone to know, slaggit, he wanted it to echo across the universe. They’d done the impossible. They were sparked._ _

__Ratchet watched in disbelief as his mate slowly fell to his knees. Drift’s optics were big and filled with tears; they streaked his face and dripped from his chin. The fearsome warrior’s smile was twisted slightly as he struggled to vent evenly, gulping harsh breaths as he continued to cry._ _

__His gaze was filled with adoration and love as he held both of Ratchet’s hands before himself. “I promise you, Ratch, I’ll be there every klik. Anything you need, it’s yours, I’ll do anything. I love you so much, Ratchet. I love you so much-”_ _

__Drift released the standing mech’s hands to cradle his hips, pressing a smattering of kisses across the medic’s abdomen. “I’ll keep you safe and happy and refueled and you won’t have to get anything for yourself. You’ll be warm and I won’t let anyone hurt you, I’ll always be right beside you…”_ _

__Above him, Ratchet had clamped one hand over his mouth while the other rested against the side of Drift’s helm. He didn’t know what to say as the swordsmech continued murmuring promises and praises against his plating. Part of him was still convinced that this was a drawn-out dream and that all this would be a painful memory when he woke._ _

__When Drift finally stood up from the floor, the medic was dizzy from all the attention laved upon his plating. He felt as if he’d been worshipped, like he was one of the temples once revered in old Cybertron before the war. Ratchet couldn’t remember ever feeling so divine in his existence._ _

__Drift gathered his mate against his chest, needing to feel the closeness of his conjunx as his emotions roiled out of control. He couldn’t seem to stop the tears from coming as he stepped back to cradled Ratchet’s face between his hands. In the medic’s optics, he could see his own elation and joy reflected, threatening to overtake the mech that he trusted and loved. Unable to stop himself, Drift rushed forward._ _

__When the swordsmech’s mouth collided with Ratchet’s, it wasn’t a refined or perfect kiss. No, it was messy and tasted like the tears that smeared their faces, it was clumsy and without technique. But in all of his memories of kissing Drift, Ratchet knew that this kiss was easily the best and the most fulfilling. It was a promise and a celebration._ _

__They’d done it. They were going to be creators. Finally._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... the pain is coming :)


	6. Chapter 6

“The long and short of it is that you’ve got pretty much everything going against you.” First Aid picked up the scan results one by one and slapped them onto the wall beside the mediberth. “If I was reviewing these without knowing you were sparked… well. I’d still be saying that it was impossible.”

On the mediberth, Ratchet lay flat on his back, blinking sleepy from beneath a heated blanket. The older medic glared at his former student for a klik before his face relaxed once more. Even though the sedative had been mild for the newspark’s sake, it was clear that Ratchet’s frame was unused to the drugs running through his system.

Drift tightened his hold on his dazed conjunx’s hand. He’d nearly had to drag Ratchet to the medbay for the spark tests. The swordsmch hated them himself, especially when he’d learned that First Aid would be conducting several tests on him as well. 

Due to the tests on Ratchet requiring him to be calm and still, First Aid had elected to sedate the other medic while he conducted them. The ambulance had vehemently protested at first, insisting that he could stay quiet throughout the testing process. Eventually, at Drift’s prodding, the former CMO allowed the other medic to slip the needle between his plating pieces and into to protoform of his inner elbow. It had taken mere kliks for Ratchet’s optics to glaze over and his field to mellow out.

Ratchet muttered something before sighing heavily and falling into a light recharge. When he was certain that the mech on the mediberth was asleep, Drift allowed some of the panic that he was feeling to enter his field. “What’s wrong with him? What do we need to do to fix it? Is there anything I-“

“Woah, slow down, Drift.” The new CMO finished attaching the scans to the board on the wall before he turned to face the agitated speedster. “First off, there’s nothing immediately wrong with him or the newspark right now. But there are some things that may cause issues later on.”

“Like what?”

The medic exvented heavily and took a seat on the stool beside the mediberth. He gave the resting mech a final look and began to explain. “Listen to me. I know that this is something that you both have wanted for a long time. But there is a lot that could keep this from working out… Drift, I think we need to accept that-“

“No. Don’t, First Aid-“

“We need to look at this from a realistic stand point. There’s a possibility that this newspark might not make it to term. A very high possibility.”

The swordsmech scooted closer to his mate on the mediberth, pulling Ratchet’s hand between his own. Drift briefly thanked Primus that the medic was asleep for this conversation. He faced First Aid squarely, defiance in his field. “Tell me straight then. What are we up against and how can we do this?”

First Aid pointed to the closest chart on the wall. “This one shows your spark energy. See how it’s slightly slower than it was before? More stable and less erratic? That’s the only thing that has changed since your last test. It appears that your spark has stabilized just enough to allow for the creation of a newspark-“

“That’s great!”

“Yes, it is. It also means that you’re healthier than you were at the beginning of this mission. Your spark casing bears none of the scarring that it did and I don’t have an explanation as to how that’s possible.”

Drift nodded quickly, staring at the chart. It meant nothing to him, but if First Aid said it was good, then it was. “Okay, so why can’t this work? You said we had everything against us-“

“Everything else _is _against you. Your own gestation tank is still scarred severely. Even your transfluid is less potent than it should be for your age and build, likely a side-effect of your drug abuse at such a young age.”__

__“Can’t we use supplements or something? There has to be something, Aid.”_ _

__“I have a few ideas…”_ _

__“Then what else is there? It was my fault that this was so hard. If everything has fixed itself or can be fixed, then-“_ _

__“It’s Ratchet.”_ _

__The swordsmech paused, unsure as to whether he had heard correctly or not. “But… I thought that it was… I thought it was my past. In the gutters. I thought that’s why we couldn’t…”_ _

__The medic nodded in agreement. “It was until now, but your spark is no longer the problem. Now, there isn’t a reason you can’t have a sparkling. Instead, there are complications that would make it hard for Ratchet to carry to term.”_ _

__“W-What? But he’s healthy! He’s forged and he’s never had to starve or- or survive like I have. What’s wrong with him?”_ _

__First Aid looked away, back to the wall full of charts and graphs. He hesitated before his optics dimmed to nearly black. “His spark… it’s in quite a bit of distress right now. More than it usually is without the presence of a newspark. Drift… are you aware of his fractured amica bond?”_ _

__“…Yes.”_ _

__“Ratchet’s spark is suffering from the effects of a severely neglected amica bond. Though it was broken some time ago, his spark may never fully be able to acclimate to being on its own. As the carrying process continues, I’m afraid that it may result in him experiencing severe pain that even I cannot help him control.”_ _

__On the mediberth, Ratchet shifted slightly, his brow ridges lowering in a scowl. Drift immediately turned his full attention on his mate. “Hey, sweetspark. I’m right here.”_ _

__The older medic’s optics opened into slits, fixating on Drift where he sat leaning over the mediberth. Ratchet’s glossa sounded clumsy as he spoke. “Home, Drift. Home…”_ _

__“We’ll head that way soon, Ratch. We have to wait until some of this wear’s off though. I can’t exactly carry you home.”_ _

__Ratchet crinkled his nasal bridge with displeasure, but didn’t fight. It showed just how much the feisty medic was still under the influence of the dampeners. Drift passed his fingers across his mate’s chevron until Ratchet drifted off again into a restless recharge._ _

__First Aid didn’t take his attention off of the papers on the wall as he spoke over his shoulder. “I won’t lie to you, Drift. It won’t be easy. Ratchet is gonna have to make a choice when he comes around. It won’t be easy, but…”_ _

__“I know. Thank you, Aid.”_ _

__With a final nod and a glance at the charts, the CMO left, allowing the door to click closed behind himself._ _

__Drift looked down at his conjunx and lifted one sensitive hand to his own mouth. Gently, he brushed his lips across the knuckles and watched Ratchet flinch in his sleep. The action drew a soft smile to the speedster’s face. His beautiful, perfect, wonderful mate…_ _

__He’d never dreamed he’d have Ratchet to himself. From the time he’d first met the medic in Rodion, Drift had known that he couldn’t have anyone else for the rest of his life. Even when the doctor had sassed at him and rolled his optics at Drift’s pathetic flirting, the little buymech had known that he would never be the same. He wanted nothing more than to see the medic’s smile every cycle until the one that his spark fizzled out._ _

__Now, here he was holding that same mech’s hand between his own. Drift was the third-in-command of a ship on a mission. His mate was one of Optimus Prime’s most trusted medics, the former CMO of the Autobot forces. It was no secret to Drift that he’d definitely bonded up._ _

__He bent over and pressed a kiss to the center of Ratchet’s chevron, drawing a sigh from the mech on the berth. “I promise you, Ratch. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this possible for us. I don’t care what it costs, okay? I promise.”_ _


	7. Chapter 7

Drift pushed him down into the mattress, his lips pressing again Ratchet’s in a kiss hard enough to bruise. His field was full of desperation as the speedster groped at his mate’s thighs, resting himself between them. Ratchet couldn’t help but notice the way Drift’s brow was furrowed as if he were in real pain. “Drift, wait a klik-“

The other mech pulled back breathlessly, his optics wild and unfocused. Ratchet waited until his mate had calmed somewhat before he spoke again. “Calm down, sweetspark. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know-“

The swordsmech was trembling enough for Ratchet to feel it as he pressed forward again. The medic held back a moan as Drift licked up his throat, leaving strands of oral lubricant to chill on the sensitive cables there. It was almost enough to distract him from his partner’s distressed, uneven panting. Almost.

Squirming, the former CMO dislodged his lover. “Drift. What in the Pit is wrong with you?”

A familiar fake smile twisted the handsome swordsmech’s mouth. “Nothing, babe. Nothing at all, okay? I just love you and I want to show it.”

“Drift…” Ratchet had known the speedster for millennia. It was easy for him to recognize when something was bothering the other mech.

With a sigh, the old medic pushed his conjunx up and off of himself until he could sit up. They’d left their appointment with First Aid not to long ago after Ratchet had recovered enough to walk straight on his own. Since he’d awoke with his mate’s hand in his own, the ambulance had noticed Drift’s tense posture. It wasn’t like the speedster to stay quiet for very long or to be this rattled in the berth.

Ratchet managed to catch the swordsmech’s wandering optic. “Drift, what else did First Aid say? Rather than that your spark is healed, I mean. Is there something wrong with the newspark that you aren’t telling me?”

“No! No, Ratch.”

“Then what is it? You’ve been off since we left the medbay. What’s going on?”

Drift hesitated, his lower lip catching between his upper denta as his optics cut down once more. In a show of support, the medic reached and brushed his fingers across his conjunx’s jaw. The white speedster’s field was whipping around them like the arms of a sparkeater, cutting through the air with nearly physical force. 

The only time Ratchet had seen the other mech even close to this upset was when Rodimus had let him take the fall and banished him from the Lost Light. But even then, Drift had managed to hold it together until he made it out of the room.

Drift took a shallow vent and lifted his hand to hold Ratchet’s palm against his face. The medic had never seen a pair of more anguished optics. “He said… he said that…” He visibly struggled with himself and Ratchet drew his thumb across his mate’s cheek, a silent gesture of support. Drift looked right at him, unblinking. “First Aid said you might not make it to term because… because of your bond. Your broken amica bond.”

Ratchet felt himself stiffen immediately. He also felt it as his mate scooted away, trying to give him space. But that was the last thing that the medic wanted right then. 

Reaching, he grabbed onto Drift’s arm and tugged. A klik later, the slender swordsmech was cuddled up against him, pushed Ratchet back down onto the berth to lay on his back. Once he’d settled, Drift nestled beneath his arm and planted a soft kiss of support on Ratchet’s cheek. Shortly after, they both lapsed into silence.

This couldn’t be happening to them. It couldn’t. They’d gotten farther already than either of them had ever thought they would. It was a miracle that they couldn’t waste. But now…

“We can do this, Drift. We can.”

The mech beside him sniffed quietly and lay his palm over the medic’s spark. Ratchet could’ve sworn that he felt his spark jerk upward and toward his mate’s hand. “Ratch… it’s okay, alright? Maybe we just… maybe we just aren’t supposed to have one-“

“Don’t talk like that-“

“But what if it’s true?!” Drift’s fragile composure broke then. He pressed himself against his mate even harder and Ratchet’s plating registered the sensation as tears were smeared across his chest. “What if we just can’t?! Maybe this is just how it’s supposed to be for-“

“If you think for one _fragging _klik that I’m going to let my bond with him take this from us, then you’re dead wrong.” Ratchet was surprised at how much resolve was in his voice. He hugged the smaller mech against him even more tightly and turned his helm to kiss blindly at Drift’s helm finials. “He’s taken enough. No more. Not another life.”__

__“You can’t control that. Your spark can’t ever be the same. He might be gone now, but I know that he’s in there, Ratchet, I’ve seen him when we merge-“_ _

__“There is a way, Drift. If we want it badly enough, there is always a way.”_ _

__“That’s what First Aid said. What did he mean?”_ _

__Ratchet swallowed heavily, staring at the ceiling above them. “I can bond again. A new amica-“_ _

__“Ratchet-“_ _

__“I’ll do it, Drift. For our newspark. Medically, it would help to ease the stress on my spark.”_ _

__The medic could feel Drift looking up at him from where his helm rested on Ratchet’s shoulder. “But… isn’t that dangerous?”_ _

__“It can be, yes. But it’s worth it isn’t it? For our newspark?”_ _

__The swordsmech paused for a moment before he reached and took Ratchet’s far hand into his own. He lifted the sensitive fingertips to his mouth and kissed lightly at the middle digit, pushing all of the love that he felt for the other mech into that one insistent kiss. The medic’s sensory net reacted immediately, filling his chest with warmth and contentment. Drift kissed each finger with the same amount of concentration until he was finished. Then, he kissed the palm._ _

__As he watched his mate, Ratchet felt as though his chest might cave in from the love that he had for the other mech. But when Drift pulled back, Ratchet was reminded once more of the issue they faced. After all, it wasn’t really his hand that Drift kissed was it?_ _

__“Pharma won’t take this from us, Drift. I won’t let an old bond do this to us.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm headed off on family vacay on Friday! This might be the last update for Postremo until I get back. If so, see everybody in a week!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I survived vacation. It was interesting to say the least. My family and I were at 5 different Airbnbs in 8 days. It's a long story, but two of those nights were spent with all of us sleeping in a minivan in a Walmart parking lot.
> 
> It's safe to say that I won't be volunteering for the next family vacation :))))))

Drift had grown accustomed to sleeping lightly. After all, he’d grown up in the gutters, a place where a klik of letting your guard down left one dead or robbed. So when he felt a disturbance nearby late in the night cycle, it took no time at all for Drift to come fully online.

The room was dark, just like it always was. Drift had once insisted on having a night light; total darkness always left him on edge. But ever since Ratchet had begun sharing quarters with him, the swordsmech had moved on from the habit. The medic’s presence was calming enough to ease his fears and Ratchet liked to recharge in complete darkness anyway.

Drift felt another field meshed with his own, one that he easily recognized as Ratchet’s. But what he didn’t recognize was the emotion that saturated his mate’s usually steady field.

Staying silent, Drift rolled over until he could reach out and touch Ratchet’s plating with his hand. The next instant, he was jerking away, tamping down the yelp that threatened to escape his vocalizer. Ratchet was burning up with fever, his armor rattling and covered with moisture. The medic released a dull moan and murmured something without coming fully online.

“No- no don’t-“

Drift quickly sat up on the berth and activated their berthroom lights via his HUD. “Ratch. Ratchet wake up.” When his optics finally adjusted to the overhead lighting, the swordsmech looked down at his trembling conjunx.

The other mech’s vents were pouring heat, his denta clenched as he began to pant. “No- please-“

Ratchet’s field was rapidly filling with fear, permeating the surrounding room. Drift couldn’t help but be affected by it and he moved once more to lean over his mate. “Babe, listen-“

“Out- let me out- NO-“

That made Drift pause. He’d just been preparing to send a comm. to First Aid, time of the night cycle be slagged. As the swordsmech listened, Ratchet twitched, his hands opening and closing into fists and his whispered. “Let me out- let me out- please-“

Again, Drift tried to rouse his conjunx, his voice breaking. He had a feeling that he knew what Ratchet was dreaming about.

It was a reoccurring nightmare. The dream had been frequenting the medic less and less frequently as time went on, but…

Drift pushed himself flush against the other mech’s back, gasping as Ratchet’s overheating armor collided with his own. Then, he reached around until he was hugging his mate from behind. Extending his field to wrap Ratchet in a protective embrace, the swordsmech whispered soothingly against the back of the medic’s helm. “I’m here, Ratch. He can’t get to you now and he never will again. I’ve got you. Wake up for me, sweetspark-“

With a choked vent, like he had been submerged for some time, Ratchet woke up swinging. But Drift had known that he would and held on tightly, pushing reassurance into his field. The medic kicked about and Drift knew that his optics were blown wide and searching, searching for the medic who’d once been a cherished amica and had since become a deadly, feared adversary.

It was only after several kliks had passed that Ratchet weakened and fell still in his mate’s arms, his field still pulsing with disorientation and horror. Drift loosened one of his arms to gently caress at one of the other mech’s sensitive hands. He then moved on to stroke a fingertip down Ratchet’s chest seam.

It was a ritual he performed whenever memories of Pharma plagued Ratchet’s recharge. Drift would touch his mate softly, reminding the other mech that he was alive and whole, that he was no longer trapped in a box at the mercy of the mad doctor. Drift would kiss the side of Ratchet’s helm and the back of his neck, all the while talking and letting the former CMO hear his voice. “Easy. It was just a dream. He’s long gone, remember? I’ve got you.”

Ratchet sighed, his frame gradually losing some of the tension. He voice was rough when he finally managed to speak. “D-Drift?”

“I’m right here. Just take it easy for a klik.”

Under his hand, Drift felt the other mech’s sparkbeat slow and even out, no longer jumping and skipping as it had been moments before. Ratchet lifted his own trembling hand and rested it over Drift’s where their newspark resided.

As the medic came back to himself, Drift focused on pressing kisses all across his face and neck, lavishing the other mech’s field with adoration. Ratchet managed to swallow heavily before he gave his mate a half-sparked glare. Try as he might, Ratchet’s gruff demeanor wasn’t fooling his mate. “Keep that up and you’ll smother me.”

Usually, Drift would laugh off his mate’s sarcasm and continue delivering increasingly sloppy kisses as Ratchet complained. But this time he sat back to look down at his lover, his brow furrowed with worry. With their newspark already in danger due to his broken amica bond, Ratchet couldn’t afford to have his spark suffering the further stress that the nightmares caused. Even though he would insist that it wasn’t that bad, Drift knew that his mate had been deeply traumatized by the tortures Pharma had subjected him to. The medic would never admit that he still dealt with the memories every cycle.

The swordsmech felt a wave of protectiveness for his conjunx and gathered a surprised Ratchet against his chest. Even though the other mech was bulkier and stronger than him, that didn’t deter Drift’s attempt to completely wrap himself around Ratchet’s frame.

“I’m fine, Drift. It was just-“

“A dream. Right. But it really happened to you, Ratch.”

Ratchet grimaced and turned his face away, back into the speedster’s chest.

They lay that way for some time before Drift spoke again. “Have you thought about your amica idea? It might help with those too. The dreams, I mean.”

“Yes. I have one or two in mind.”

Drift heaved a sigh and tucked his mate even more tightly beneath his chin. “Are you going to ask them soon?”

Against his neck, Drift felt the medic nod and exvent a breath of heated air. “Yes. Soon.”

As his mate struggled to fall back into recharge, the speedster wondered who he’d chosen to approach. Amica endura bonds were no small matter and the forming of a new bond wouldn’t be easy for either of them. Ratchet essentially would be rewriting part of his spark’s makeup to accommodate for this new mech or femme. It would be quite the adjustment.

Drift nuzzled at his conjunx’s helm chevron and forced tranquility into his field. He wanted nothing more than to take away Ratchet’s pain and sorrows, but knew that only procuring a new amica could do that. Furthermore, their newspark depended on whatever mechs or femmes that Ratchet has chosen to ask. If they refused… Drift didn’t want to think about what could happen.

The swordsmech sent a silent prayer to Primus for guidance through the time ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So vacay wasn't a complete tragedy...
> 
> I've been talking with Miratete over my vacation and we've decided to put together a Fanfiction Author/Reader Gathering at TFcon Chicago 2018!
> 
> If you wanna join in, contact Miratete at miratete3000@gmail.com for details! I hope I get to see some of y'all there!


	9. Chapter 9

“You… You would choose _me _?”__

__Ratchet nodded slowly. The last few cycles had been hard on the carrying mech and it was obvious in his appearance. Dents, dark and deep, presented deeper than usual under his dim optics and his field was barely perceivable. Even though the sparkling he carried was still a mere newspark in his chest, maintaining it was taking its toll on the exhausted medic’s frame._ _

__When his mate failed to give a verbal confirmation, Drift reached and took the medic’s limp hand in his own. “Yes. Would you consider it? Radius would’ve but with his sparkcase already so fragile and your spark being the brightest-“_ _

__“I don’t need to think about it at all. I’d be more than happy to accept if Ratchet will have me.”_ _

__Drift released the vent he’d been holding and looked across at his mate. Beside him, Ratchet lifted his helm, his optics wide with wonder. “You… accept?”_ _

__On the other side of his desk, Rung nodded. The psychiatrist’s optics were warm and his field was as welcoming as always. “Of course I do. I consider you one of the few friends that I have, Ratchet. I have never shared my spark with another, but I would be more than willing to share it with you.”_ _

__“You… would?” Ratchet was staring at the mech across from him, confusion coloring his face. He seemed unable to understand that Rung had indeed agreed to become his amica endura. “You really would?”_ _

__With a soft smile, Rung nodded again and reached across his desk toward the medic. Clearly dazed, Ratchet accepted the smaller hand into his own, visibly squeezing it too tightly. The psychiatrist didn’t seem to mind though as he removed his glasses with his other hand. “I would, Ratchet, and I will. You and Drift have been trying for a sparkling for quite some time. I would be more than happy to help you overcome anything that would prevent you this happiness that you have achieved.”_ _

__Ratchet blinked a few times, his mouth open slightly in disbelief. He turned his gaze to Drift as if searching for further proof that this was really happening. Drift rubbed circles on the hand that he held, his own optics bright with excitement. “He said yes, Ratch. It’s all gonna be okay now.”  
The spent medic looked back at the mech who held his other hand. “You really will?”_ _

__“Yes, doctor, I will. I accept.”_ _

__Drift grinned wide and pulled his mate into a warm embrace. He planted a firm kiss against the side of Ratchet’s face, uncaring that Rung was there to see. “Thank Primus,” he whispered. “Thank Primus.”_ _

__Ratchet rolled his optics and didn’t bother arguing with him._ _

__“Ratchet… could I speak with you for a moment? If that’s alright?” Even as his voice was serious, Rung’s smile stayed in place._ _

__Drift smiled and released his mate’s hand. “Sure, no problem.” A klik later, the swordsmech let himself out of the psychiatrist’s office and into the hallway.  
When the door clicked closed behind the other mech, Rung returned his attention to Ratchet. “I wanted to thank you-“_ _

__“There is no thanks necessary, Rung. I was just doing my job.”_ _

__The smaller mech cast his optics down, his cheeks glowing slightly. “I think… you can agree with me here. You went above and beyond medical protocol, Ratchet. I can’t ever thank you enough.”_ _

__Ratchet offered a half-sparked smile, his body sagging under the strain that his spark had been experiencing. He wasn’t sure what to say to the orange mech on the other side of the desk. It was true, things might’ve been very different if he hadn’t stepped in when he had._ _

__The psychiatrist tented his fingers in front of himself on the desk, his gaze fixating on them. “I know that this can’t be easy for you. To reshape one’s spark is no small matter, especially when there is a newspark involved. You’re certain you want it to be me?”_ _

__The old medic nodded. He could feel his hands shaking in his lap and he wanted Drift to come back and hold them. His body felt strangely fragile, like he might break if the door opened with the slightest gust-_ _

__“Ratchet?”_ _

__The mech in question jolted and refocused his wandering optics on Rung. “I- I’m sorry, I-“ Ratchet lifted a hand to his helm, trying to make the room stop spinning. He’d never felt so tired in his entire existence, even when he had forgotten to refuel and was running on fumes._ _

__A gentle hand appeared and Ratchet watched as it took ahold of one of his own. The medic registered Rung’s closeness distantly, sensed more than saw that he’d moved around the desk to stand at his side. Worry spread through the psychiatrist’s carefully controlled field. “Doctor? Is everything alright?”_ _

__Ratchet looked up at the psychiatrist, unable to force words from his vocalizer. Darkness had begun to creep into the edges of his vision. Somewhere on the edge of it all, Pharma’s voice could be heard, laughing at his weakness and discomfort-_ _

__A kind touch landed on his cheek and the medic turned his helm into it, using it to ground himself against the memories. He just managed to make out the outline of Rung’s circular glasses._ _

__Another presence filled the room a klik later, one that he associated with love and trust. Before he could place a name to the field, Ratchet found himself being pulled against a white chest._ _

__“Call First Aid, Rung, please-“_ _

__“He’s already on his way here.”_ _

__The mech whose chest he rested against pushed a kiss against the top of Ratchet’s helm. Whoever it was, his lips were cool against his plating. Suddenly exhausted, the medic fought to keep from putting his full weight against whoever held him. Even though his face was blurry, Ratchet could tell just by the warmth put out by his protector’s engine that the other mech was no medic. This speedster wouldn’t be able to hold him up if he- if he-_ _

__Ratchet felt it as the black wave closed over his helm, driving away the two fields that swirled around him with concern and safety. In their place came the mocking tones that he was no longer surprised to hear. Even as he’d grown used to the nightly visits from his former amica, the memory of the torture Ratchet had been exposed to never got easier to deal with._ _

__The last thing he felt was being lifted into another medic’s arms._ _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in a sleepy haze after a nine hour day.
> 
> Ps- sorry if any of my replies were gibberish *falls asleep, snores*

“The newspark is fine. It’s still spinning and healthy as far as I can tell.”

\Drift released the vent he’d been holding. When First Aid had entered the room with his field pale with stress, the swordsmech had expected the worst. Though the news was far better than what Drift had been expecting, that still didn’t explain why the new CMO’s field was so dark. “Is there more? Why did he collapse?”

“Though the newspark is okay, Ratchet’s frame and spark are feeding it. In essence, the newspark is starving him of life energy. Even his innermost energon is slowly being syphoned off to feed the developing protoform and the growing newspark.”

“But why? Is it his broken bond?”

First Aid cast a look to the side. Even with his visor and battle mask in place, he couldn’t quite hide his agitation from the perceptive ex-Decepticon. His hands clutched too tightly onto the datapad in his grasp and his field, thought carefully composed, was occasionally bleeding with anxiety. 

He might’ve been a well-trained medic, experienced enough to stay calm in the most dire of situations. But seeing his own mentor so injured was effecting him far more than First Aid had expected it to. “Yes, it’s the amica bond. Ratchet has a bad habit already of running himself ragged. With his history of irregular refuel and recharge, the effects of the broken amica bond are strong enough to essentially cause frame-wide functional failure. But even with all of that, he’s somehow… somehow, he’s keeping the newspark alive.”

Drift gazed down at his unconscious mate for a moment before turning back to the other medic at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s almost like he’s controlling how much the newspark gets. So much structural stress should’ve caused a miscarriage by now. But he’s somehow been consciously keeping the newspark online at his own expense.”

As understanding dawned on Drift, he felt a knot form at the base of his throat. Ratchet was willingly giving himself up to save the newspark. Even though it meant pain and possibly death, Ratchet had made the decision alone that he would give the newspark everything that he had, even if it meant his own deactivation at the end of it all. The reality that his mate was willing to die before giving up on finally having a sparkling…

“First Aid… I want you to be honest with me.”

“You know that I will be, Drift.”

But Drift didn’t want to put voice to the darkness of his thoughts. It took two reboots of his vocalizer before he could speak it aloud. “Do you think we should terminate the newspark?”

First Aid glanced down at the datapad in his hands, unable to meet the expecting sire’s optics. “I… would suggest it, in any other case. But with Ratchet being as attached to it as he is… termination may lead to even further strain on his spark.”

“How? It’s killing him right now!”

“He’s the carrier. He’s already formed a bond to the newspark. It’s part of his very being right now. To rip it away while he’s in stasis… Drift, he might not even bother to come around. His spark would be handling an old broken amica bond and the fresh wound of a broken bond with his unborn sparkling. It would be too much for him and I don’t want to risk it.”

Feeling defeated and desperate, Drift moved to cradle one of his conjunx’s hands between his own. He squinted down at it, searching for an answer that wasn’t there. How had their dream come true suddenly turned so rapidly into a nightmare? They’d waited so long for this blessing, this chance to share something that their devotion to each other had created. But now, Drift would’ve given almost anything to go back and prevent his mate so much suffering. 

“Rung came in yestercycle…”

Drift hummed in response, his attention focused solely on his mate. Ratchet’s brow was crinkled; he was likely experiencing one of the Pharma-centered nightmares that claimed him frequently. A fine sheen of moisture glowed on his chevron as well. Ever since they’d gotten him to the medbay, the older mech’s frame had remained just shy of overheating. First Aid had been dosing him frequently with pain inhibitors to combat it, but there was only so much that could be done at this point to keep Ratchet comfortable.

The younger medic shifted his weight to his other ped. “He said that he wanted a full spark analysis. That he wanted to test for anything that might endanger a future amica endura.”

“I thought you had patient confidentiality?”

“I do. But I have a feeling that he was talking about taking Ratchet as an amica. You don’t have to confirm that, but you should know that all the tests were clear and that he’s the perfect candidate for it.”

“Ratchet asked him. Right before he collapsed. That’s why we were at Rung’s office in the first place.” Drift took a shaky vent, suddenly feeling far older than he ever had before. He just wanted his conjunx back, happy and healthy. Well, as happy at Ratchet had ever openly been, anyway.

First Aid nodded. “And he accepted?” The medic waited for Drift’s affirmation before continuing. “If it comes to that, the choice is yours to make. If Ratchet’s frame begins to fail, you will be the one to make a decision. His files have him as DNR and they list you as his POA. Having Rung bond with him will be completely your call, but you’ll have to make it before it’s too late to give him a chance at coming back.”

The thought of having Rung bond with Ratchet while he was in stasis caused a sinking feeling in Drift’s tank. True, Ratchet had been the one to ask Rung. But it still felt wrong to have it happen while Ratchet was unable to verbally consent… of course, he already had, hadn’t he? When he initially asked?

The swordsmech released his mate’s hand and buried his face in his own. How did someone make a decision like this? He couldn’t take away Ratchet’s autonomy in such a way, even if the other mech had already consented to the bond-

“I want to bond with him, First Aid.”

For the first time, the medic at the end of the mediberth looked stunned. “Why? You can’t form an amica bond-“

“I know that. But I have to make sure that this is what he wants.”

First Aid looked like he might argue for a moment, likely to remind Drift that bonding with Rung had been Ratchet’s decision in the first place. Instead, understanding rapidly crossed his features a klik later. “I see. When do you want to do this?”

“Can I do it right now? The sooner I do, the sooner I can make a decision on Rung.”

“I’ll call Perceptor.”


	11. Chapter 11

Drift cuddled up against this mate on the mediberth, pulling Ratchet’s face into his neck. Below, the old medic muttered something about being too clingy, but continued burrowing closer for the speedster’s warm anyway.

Fortunately, Ratchet had come around before Drift had been able to enter such a risky bond with him. 

The TIC had been more than willing to bond with his dangerously weak mate. After all, he’d done something similar for his carrying amica endura not so long before. The similarities between Ratchet’s predicament and the one that had nearly cost Rodimus his life was not missed by the swordsmech. Though he would’ve willingly done it again, Drift was grateful that his conjunx had awoke before he’d been pushed to such lengths.

The carrying mech shifted again, his optics pale and half -closed. Ratchet hadn’t been able to fuel for some time. His systems, according to First Aid, wouldn’t have been able to process anything even if they’d injected energon directly into his fuel lines. The newspark would simply eat it up faster than Ratchet could use it to sustain himself.

“I’m not deactivated yet. Quit mourning.”

It was a relief to hear Ratchet’s voice, ever impatient and unimpressed. But it was also sad to hear how low and gravelly it was. Drift cuddled his larger mate even closer, sighing through his vents. “I know. But you could’ve. What if you’d-“

“I know what could’ve happened, Drift.”

“We could’ve avoided this getting so far if you’d said something.”

“I- I couldn’t lose it. Not to him. Not after-”

Drift tucked his chin to press a kiss against the medic’s helm. Around them, Perceptor and First Aid prepared various cords and machines, maneuvering things around and out of the way. Outside, Rodimus and Rung waited, reviewing the ceremony ahead. With them were Nautica, Nightbeat, Velocity and Brainstorm who’d insisted on being there to support their amica as he prepared to welcome another into his spark.

Ratchet was too weak to partake in a traditional amica endura bonding ceremony. Usually, the vows would be exchanged between the intended amicas before an audience of their closes friends and family. In the vows, they would offer the other soon-to-be amica or amicas to come forth and “receive their light.” Once that was over, the pair would retire to bond in private. They would renew their bond continuously over the course of several cycles until their sparks were properly connected and could recognize each other easily. Though the process was more intensive and was held to greater importance, the amica endura ceremony wasn’t too different on Caminus.

A soft knock at the door caused the medic and scientist to pause in their work. Perceptor and First Aid shared a look before the microscope moved between the closed door and the mediberth. “Come in?”

Rodimus’ helm peeked into the room a klik later. “Hey, just checking on things in here. How we doin’?”

“We’d be better with some patience.”

The young prime laughed and began to duck back out of the room. “I know, I know, we were just-”

First Aid hissed and searched for something to throw as Rodimus darted back out with a laugh. He released a frustrated sigh before noticing that Ratchet was watching him, still tucked against Drift in the berth. “What?”

The older medic quirked an optic ridge, not quite pulling off his typical exasperation in his current state. “I’ve worn off on you. Pity.”

“Pity yourself. It’s your own fault I ended up this way.”

Drift smiled at the casual batter between the medics, sensing the fondness in both of their fields. The speedster wondered briefly why Ratchet hadn’t asked First Aid to be his new amica endura. Perhaps their combined traumas at Pharma’s hands would be too much for them if they bonded their sparks into one.

“Alright. Ready.”

Perceptor stepped back from rearranging the room and pulled a chair up to the side of the mediberth. He sat it down on Ratchet’s side of the berth with a dull clang. It would be where Rung would sit for the bonding since the carrying mech was too weak to sit up, let alone stand.

Drift took a deep vent and eased himself away from his mate’s shivering form. Ratchet’s fingers scuffled for a moment or two, trying to pull himself back toward the warmth of the speedster’s chassis. Finding himself unable to coordinate and do so, the old medic resigned to curling in on himself for warmth. He gave Drift an accusing glare, but ultimately said nothing as his mate moved to sit upright on the side of the mediberth.

Leaving a hand to rest comfortingly on Ratchet’s shoulder, the TIC turned and gave First Aid a nod.

As Rung entered the room, a soft, quiet field proceeded him, blanketing the room’s other occupants. A slight smile graced his mouth as the psychiatrist moved to the mediberth’s side, his peds silent on the floor. His optics never once left the Ratchet and he didn’t even seem to be aware that the other mecha had stopped to watch his arrival.

“Hello, Ratchet. How are you feeling?”

True to form, the medic was unimpressed by the modest little psychiatrist. He snorted openly and tried to hide his shaking frame. “Great. Wonderful.”

Perceptor stepped forward from where he’d been standing, extending to Rung the reason that he’d been summoned in the first place: his pair of spark connectors. Though the invention looked more like Earth-jumper cables, the scientist had created them as a means of bonding two sparks or to allow merging while one mech was ill or otherwise couldn’t actively participate. Instead of the sparks being directly applied to each other, mecha could attach the ends to their sparks and bond/merge that way.

Rung accepted the end of the cord and opened his chest plates without hesitation. He had nothing to fear or to hide from the mecha present. They were doctors and Drift was the conjunx of the mech he would soon bond with. It was safe company.

Drift found himself momentarily blinded as the smaller mech’s spark light flooded the small room. Behind him, he heard First Aid gasp in awe and Perceptor moved forward, likely trying to get a closer look. It was known that Rung had the brightest spark on the ship, but no one outside his other amicas had ever seen it. Drift certainly hadn’t expected it to be _that _bright.__

__Shifting onto his back strut, Ratchet squinted past the spark bared to him to look up at Rung’s serene face. He watched, trying to quell the flipping in his tanks as the other mech reached up and took the trademark glasses from his face._ _

__“So, we ready to do this thing?”_ _

__Having all been distracted by Rung’s stunning blue spark, no one had noticed that Rodimus had entered the room. The young prime was freshly waxed for the occasion and he smiled widely even as his field quivered with nervousness. It was a small relief to Ratchet that someone else was as on edge as himself._ _

__A gentle hand rubbed at the medic’s shoulder and he looked up to connect optics with his conjunx endura. Drift blinked slowly and gave his mate a lopsided grin. As Ratchet watched, the speedster mouthed the words ‘I love you’ when no one was looking._ _

__The carrying mech offered a partial smile before looking back to Rodimus and Rung. “I’m ready.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might be buying my favorite car tomorrow. Hint?
> 
> He's yellow :D


	12. Chapter 12

Ratchet’s frame wasn’t the kind that ran hot often. He was a medic, designed for efficiency. He didn’t have a high-performance engine nor was his plating thin enough to release any heat that did build up.

So when Rung’s hands gently came to rest on his upper arm, Ratchet almost jerked away from the cool sensation. Ratchet had known that he’d been running a fever for the past few cycles. But he hadn’t expected the smaller, naturally-warmer chassis of the psychiatrist to be so completely different in temperature from his own.

“I’m sorry, doctor. Did I startle you?”

“No. Just running a little warmer than usual.” The medic could see that his gruff tone hadn’t fooled the orange mech as Rung took a seat beside the berth. He felt it as Drift shifted on his other side, likely refraining from arguing with his mate.

Rodimus spoke quietly to First Aid, his field unusually contained and serious as he reviewed the modified ceremony with the CMO. Nearby, Perceptor was righting the cords that would soon be used to join Ratchet’s and Rung’s sparks. The thought of taking on a new amica endura suddenly threatened to overtake the ambulance and he forced his mouth into a hard line, staring fixedly on the blankets that covered his lower body.

One of the hands on his arm shifted, rubbing lightly against Ratchet’s plating. It wasn’t until that hand slid down into his own that the medic lifted his gaze to squint up at Rung. The psychiatrist’s spark was flaring wildly by then, tendrils of it reaching out toward Ratchet before the individual wisps weakened and faded into nothing. A fresh wave of serenity was projected through Rung’s field and the slighter mech gave Ratchet’s hand a light squeeze. More grateful than he’d expected to be, Ratchet gripped the smaller hand back, giving the other mech a tentative smile.

“Alright, let’s get started then. Rung?” Rodimus came forward and, upon seeing that the pair had already joined hands, paused to allow them time to prepare for the next step.

Ever patient, Rung leant forward until the light from his spark could caress against his future bondmate’s plating. Behind him, Perceptor passed forward one end of the cord and released it when the orange mech took it securely into his free hand. “Ratchet… I bid you find comfort in the glow of my spark. I ask you to listen and know that my words are true and without hidden meaning…”

The psychiatrist, usually so unflappable, took a shaking vent. His optics shuttered briefly in obvious nervousness and Ratchet wondered if the action would’ve usually been hidden behind his glasses. “Ratchet, I invite you to receive my light and in doing so become my amica endura… from now until forever.”

The room around them was completely silent when Rung had finished. Every vent seemed to be held as Ratchet swallowed and fought to get his thoughts in order. His processor had begun to ache, likely a mixture of the fatigue he suffered and his inability to refuel for the past few cycles. The old medic felt confused and couldn’t shake the feeling that the room around him was beginning to wobble.

“Ratch?”

Blinking, Ratchet turned to his other side at the sound of his name. Drift reached forward to brush a thumb across his cheek, but even as Ratchet saw the action coming, he never actually felt their plating touch. His mate narrowed his optics and cast a worried look at First Aid before returning his attention to Ratchet. “Sweetspark, do you accept Rung’s pledge?”

It took far too long for Ratchet to process his conjunx’s question. He turned his helm, the room weaving in slow motion as he finally found Rung with his optics. Somewhere deep in the darkest corner of his processor, a familiar voice giggled mirthfully at him. 

Ratchet gulped and felt his optics darting around in his helm as panic overtook him. The voice was so strong, so convincing as it grew louder in his audials. _Poor, poor Ratchet. How pathetic. You’re a medic, aren’t you? It’s your job to protect them and yet you’d pull innocent little Rung in to fight your battles for you. Such a sorry excuse you’ve become, Ratchet. It’s disgusting. I know who you are- ___

“No- no you don’t-“

_Oh, but I do. Remember the games we used to play? How rough it used to get? You liked it, don’t lie. I can see your spark after all. You can’t hide it from me. ___

Ratchet heard a croaking sound come from nearby and was faintly aware that his mouth had dropped open, releasing the sound from his own straining vocalizer.

_Do you remember how it felt, Ratchet? ___

______“Ratchet, please look at me-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“His spark-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“What’s going on?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I can’t get a read- Perceptor, you may have to-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ratchet, listen to me very carefully. He’s not real anymore.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The voice in his helm was silenced just long enough for the medic to drag in a shaky vent and turn back toward Rung. The little mech’s famous eyebrows were pulled together as he studied the carrying mech in the mediberth. His field bathed Ratchet’s overheating armor like a soothing balm, washing away the distress in the former CMO’s own field._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rung held the medic’s single hand between his own. “You are not alone in this. He’s gone and cannot hurt you anymore. I promise.” Dumbly, Ratchet felt himself nod, not quite understanding what the other mech was saying, but enjoying the comforting timbre of Rung’s quiet voice._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Can you talk to me, Ratchet?” The medic nodded slowly, feeling like the cogs in his processor were submerged in gutter sludge. “Do you accept my pledge? I need you to verbally agree in front of Rodimus in order for there to be established consent in you condition.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Y… Ye… Yes. Yes.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______A bright smile bloomed across what Ratchet could still see of Rung’s face. “Thank you, doctor. Just relax. He will be gone for good soon. If you could open your chest for me, please?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nearby, Ratchet could sense the familiar presence of two mechs that he knew he was close to. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t recall their designations or why they were important to him. One of them appeared on the edge of his vision and Ratchet became suddenly aware that his frame was trembling with either fear or fatigue._ _ _ _ _ _

______This mech, obviously a medic by his paint job, leaned in toward him. Ratchet flinched away, only feeling the sting in his neck after the doctor had pulled back once more, something shiny in his hand. Things instantly became more dizzying and Ratchet felt a hand support the back of his increasingly heavy helm. He knew somehow that it was the mech he held most dearly in the room that eased him back against the pillow._ _ _ _ _ _

______Feeling more confused and worried by the klik, Ratchet felt strangely exposed as a small mech with a modest orange paint job leaned forward and over him…  
“Easy now. I’m going to connect this clamp to your spark chamber, Ratchet. Things should feel better after that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ratchet felt fingers dancing intimately across his innermost workings and he twitched, aware that these were strange hands that had never touched him in such a way before. Before he could gather the strength to move away or to fight back, a dull sting echoed within his very core. A weight settled momentarily within his chest cavity, drawing a gasp from his lips before Ratchet felt himself tumbling into blissful darkness._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So short story time:
> 
> Back in 2014, I went with my friends to see Age of Extinction on its opening night. I'd never seen any of the Transformers movies in my life. EVER. So I was completely lost to say the least, but I was already a Camaro fan. I fell in love with Bumblebee instantly!  
> I went to the car lot later that week and saw him. I knew that I had to have him, but would be going to college soon. It wasn't the right time.  
> So this past Saturday, I dragged my mom 3 hours north into Michigan to look at a Camaro I'd found. I finished paying off Roddy on Valentine's Day this year and wanted to buy my dream car.  
> Now, I can see him outside my bedroom window every day. That car was the beginning of my entry into the TF fandom, even if he is from Bayverse. I would be here writing today without him :)


	13. Chapter 13

Cool air blossomed across Ratchet’s fevered plating, easing the fever that had been wreaking havoc on his systems. The medic felt his body relax, only to make a startling discovery the next klik.

 

The mediberth that he’d been laying on was gone.

As Ratchet vented slowly, awash in bliss as the fever continued to dissipate, he realized that nothing was touching him at all. He was floating. 

Tentatively blinking his optics open, the former CMO found that he was suspended in darkness. There didn’t appear to be any indication of an up or a down, no way to find his bearings. It was like he’d been left in the universe’s maw, but the stars themselves had been extinguished.

Before panic could set in, however, a familiar field surrounded him.

“Ratchet? Are you alright? Can you open your hand for me?”

A field washing around the medic; it felt nearly like a solid blanket around his exhausted frame. Ratchet struggled to reconnect with his body, fighting until he felt his fingers relax from the fists that they’d curled into. “R-Rung?”

“I’m here. How are you doing, doctor?”

Ratchet allowed himself to wonder briefly why he felt so calm, so at peace. “I am… fine.”

Rung’s calming essence was what cradled the medic’s bruised spark, supporting it in the darkness that closed in on them from all sides. Ratchet squeezed his optics closed again and willed himself to stay online; he only hoped that Rung had enough sense to break the merge before he dragged him down into the abyss as well.

“Don’t give up.”

“Rung, you have to…”

A quiet laugh reached the exhausted ex-CMO’s audials and he opened his optics once more, surprised by such a sound in such a dismal situation. “Excuse me?”

Beside him and not at all obscured by the darkness around them, Rung was watching him. The smaller mech’s field was filled with warmth and something that Ratchet hadn’t felt in so, so long. 

A slender hand extended to take Ratchet’s own in a gentle hold. “You keep saying it.”

“Saying what?”

Rung’s smile was bright with rare, true happiness as he gazed across at his new amica. “My name. It feels so good to hear my name. You remember it every time.”

Ratchet resisted the urge to snort and instead clutched tightly at the smaller hand in his own. “Of course I remember it. I’m not some-“

“I know, I know. Thank you. Just… thank you.”

The doctor was about to remind Rung that he was the one who should be receiving thanks when a familiar laugh cut through the black nothingness surrounding them. The voice that came with it sent cold needles dancing up and down Ratchet’s spine.

“Oh my beloved Ratchet. Have you come back to play?”

 

~o0o~

 

Ratchet tried to pinpoint where his enemy was, but the voice seemed to surround them. He gripped Rung’s hand even more tightly and tried to calm the mad spinning of his spark. Deep in his chest, the old medic could feel his newspark orbiting the blazing light. He placed his free hand over where his chamber would open as if that alone would be enough to protect his child from the monster lurking in somewhere out in the black.

Beside him, Rung moved closer, pulling Ratchet’s hand until they were abreast of each other. His optics were hard and his eyebrows were pulled down low as he spoke. “Pharma. We don’t want any trouble.”

Another cackling laugh reached them. Ratchet could barely detect the high class Vosian accent in the sound; it was so warped and twisted. “Oh? Well perhaps that’s what I want. What then?”

“I will have no choice but to expel you.”

Ratchet swung his helm to look across at Rung, but the psychiatrist didn’t even bat an optic. How did the little bot expect to fight with something that seemed to come from all around them? And even if Pharma did adopt a single form, how did Rung expect to take on a mech that was even larger than Ratchet himself?

The battle-hardened medic turned to face his friend squarely, taking Rung’s slender shoulders in his hands as he did. “Don’t do this. You can’t win against him.” The mad mech had nearly taken Drift from him. Ratchet wasn’t sure if he could bare losing Rung to his crazed former amica. Especially if it was a result of his own stubbornness.

“I… I don’t know why. But I know that I can. Do you trust me, Ratchet?”

Without a hint of hesitation this time, Ratchet scoffed and rolled his optics. “Do you think I’d bond with you if I didn’t? What are you going to do?”

“I am going to kill you.”

For several kliks, Ratchet stared into his new amica’s face, trying to remember when he’d last had First Aid calibrate his audials. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. “I could’ve sworn that you said you were going to kill me.” 

Rung didn’t look away when Ratchet continued to stare at him, searching for some kind of reassurance that he’d heard incorrectly. “You… can’t be serious. What about the newspark? How would doing that…”

Out in the darkness around them, a high-pitched giggle echoed. “A newspark? I thought I felt something soft and innocent that couldn’t be you, Ratchet.”

Even as his torturer’s voice vibrated through the thick darkness around them, Ratchet didn’t look away from the mech at his side. A sad smile rested on Rung’s face. Instead of fear, the smaller mech’s field was filled with deep sorrow. “Ratchet, do you trust me?”

Ratchet had seen Rung at his best and at his worst. They’d saved each other’s lives more than once a piece. If the little psychiatrist asked for his trust, then Ratchet would give it to him. “The newspark…?”

“I… I’m sorry, Ratchet.”

Overwhelmed, the medic choked in a shaky breath. Tears welled in his optics as he gazed at his friend. The same grief that he felt was reflected in Rung’s own field. “Then what’s the point of all this?”

“It’s the only way to rid you of Pharma for good. The only way to give any future newspark a chance. I’m so sorry, my friend.”

Ratchet released the smaller mech’s hand to clutch both of his own over his spark. Within his chest, he could feel his beloved creation moving, ever orbiting his spark. He imagined that he could feel it’s field, asking him for reassurance that things outside were alright. But the medic couldn’t comfort his newspark, not with Pharma’s laugh growing closer and his optics glowing at the edge of the darkness. Even after all that he and Drift had been through, he still couldn’t protect their long-awaited miracle.

His voice was rough with the agony he felt as Ratchet connected his optics with Rung’s once more. “I’m- but- you’re sure that there’s no other way?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Pharma giggled somewhere out in the blackness and Ratchet caught a glimpse of optics flashing with mirth. “You never did have what it took to make the difficult decisions, dearest.”

Ratchet felt something inside himself break and begin to bleed as he kept his focus on the orange mech. He tried envisioning Drift’s face, the way it had been warm with love and adoration when Ratchet had told him that they were carrying. His mate had been so happy and now it would all be torn away in a sparkspin-

But there was no chance of having a sparkling while Pharma held a claim on his spark. If Rung was right and could truly banish his former amica, then that meant that Ratchet and Drift could try again. Though the odds were still slim, they still had a chance if the medic agreed to Rung’s proposal. Otherwise… he and Drift had no chance of ever successfully creating. This was the only option that they had.

“I’m ready then, Rung. But how-”

But Ratchet didn’t have time to finish his sentence. His voice trailed off and his optics fizzled out as Rung’s hand plunged through his chest plating and straight into his spark. Distantly, the old medic felt his body fall slack, his senses fading one at a time into nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

Drift gently interlaced his fingers with those of his unmoving mate. Before him on the mediberth, Ratchet lay limp and unresponsive. Only the steady beeping of the spark monitor told the swordsmech that his beloved was still online.

Nearby, First Aid was fidgeting with a datapad, his visor dim with concentration as he monitored more stats. The younger medic had a habit of tapping his left pointer digit when he was nervous. As Drift continued to watch that telltale finger tap against the datapad, he wondered not for the first time whether or not they were too late.

Tearing his gaze away from the new CMO, Drift found his gaze resting on the fourth mech in the room. On the other side of the berth, Rung lay reclined in a chair. Behind his glasses, his optics were dark. His field, like Ratchet’s, was muted and peaceful, a sure sign of them both being in deep recharge.

Drift studied the little orange mech’s slender frame, marveling at how strong the unassuming mech was. Rung had beat the odds time after time. If anyone could pull Ratchet back from the edge, it was the little psychiatrist across the mediberth.

The hand in his twitched, prompting Drift to refocus his attention on his unconscious mate.

Ratchet’s face was slack, his lips slightly parted. His chest moved with shallow pants, the only indicator that the medic’s frame was under any kind of distress. As Drift cast his gaze down the length of his conjunx’s frame, he couldn’t help but notice the gentle swell of Ratchet’s lower abdomen.

Before he could stop himself, Drift found himself reaching to cup his hand against the medic’s rounded belly. Though it hadn’t been as perceivable when Ratchet was standing upright, the slight protrusion could clearly be seen when he was laying flat on his spinal strut. It took Drift only a few kliks to realize what it meant.

The newspark’s protoform had begun to form in the gestation chamber. 

Slowly and afraid of disturbing his ailing mate, Drift bent until his lips brushed against Ratchet’s abdominal plating. Even though he knew that a spark didn’t yet inhabit the growing protoform, the swordsmech was comforted by the closeness. To know that his offspring, his precious creation, was growing inside the mech that he loved and that he’d put that life there… Drift had never dreamed that he’d be granted such a precious, incomparable gift.

Being a sire wasn’t something that he ever thought he’d get to be. Primus, Drift hadn’t expected to survive his own adolescence. The gutters had no mercy on a frame like his. He’d been used and abused and left for dead. He’d sold his body, sold his services and his soul just to keep his spark spinning. But now, he’d been given a chance to make up for everything he’d done-

Ratchet had started that spark, back in the Dead End. He’d given a younger Drift hope that things didn’t have to always be the way that they were. Ratchet had made him believe that he was special. 

But now, the grumpy old medic had given him an even greater gift. Once, he’d given Drift hope for a future. Now, he carried Drift’s future in his chest and in his gestation chamber.

As Drift kissed lightly at the swell of his mate’s belly, tears sprung into his optics. This should’ve been a joyful experience for them both. Instead, a broken bond had left Ratchet too weak to function and Drift’s past mistakes had rendered him unable to provide healthy energy and transfluid.

A single tear escaped to splatter against Ratchet’s plating and the TIC was quick to wipe it away. He had to be strong for his mate. Things were bad enough without him crumbling-

The sudden blaring of an alarm caused Drift to yank back and place a hand on his sword handle. 

Before he could figure out what was going on, the sowrdsmech found himself being grabbed and shoved backward, away from the mediberth. First Aid placed himself immediately where Drift had been a click before, his visor flashing as he quickly read the screens. “’Aid? What’s happening? Is everything okay? What-“

“Drift, you need to leave.”

“What? Pit no! Why-“

“VELOCITY! GET IN HERE!”

Drift found himself being shoved even further away from his mate as Preceptor and Velocity stumbled through the door together and into the room. The white sire-to-be was preparing to demand what was happening when he caught sight of his still mate.

Ratchet’s color was fading quickly, his bright reds dulling to gray with every klik that passed. His plating had already lost the weak glow that it had from carrying and his chest no longer moved with short, erratic gasps. But that meant that-

“RATCHET! RATCHET, NO! NO!”

Hands came out of nowhere and took Drift by the shoulders, maneuvering him out of the room and into the medbay’s common area. The swordsmech tried to unsheathe his swords, but found that they’d been taken from him at some point. He tried fighting the hands that carried him out, but there were two sets of them holding him back. In his distress, Drift couldn’t remember how to escape something as simple as being held by two mechs.

_This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. ___

__One of the sets of hands became arms that folded around Drift as he continued to scream for his mate. Distantly, he was aware of a comforting field and a familiar voice whispering in his audials. “Shhh, babe. Let them work. I know. I know-“_ _

__Even as Rodimus held him in a tight embrace and Ultra Magnus’ towering form blocked Ratchet and the room from his sight, Drift fought to get back to his mate’s side. From where he was, he could hear First Aid shouting orders to the other two, directing them as they fought to bring back the cold, graying frame on the mediberth._ _

__Still slumped in the chair, Rung also was beginning to fade. His face was serene, just like Ratchet’s appeared to be, oblivious to the deathly coloration that had settled over them both._ _

__Drift fell to his knees, unable to stand under the weight of his crippling grief. “Ratchet. Ratchet, please. Primus, please don’t take him from me-“_ _

__The strong arms of his amica held him upright at his spark shattered, the bond he held with his sparkmate splintering under the stress of Ratchet’s deactivation. Rodimus didn’t allow his best friend to fall, even when the overwhelming agony and sorrow stole Drift’s senses away and left him tumbling into the numbing embrace of darkness._ _


	15. Chapter 15

Everything was warm.

He was cradled in it, wrapped up in its embrace. Even the air sifting gently through his vents was heavy with warmth and comfort. He couldn’t remember feeling so at ease in his entire life. 

Ratchet allowed himself to sigh as his body hovered in that peaceful place, the one where he was lost in the silver lining between wakefulness and sleep. He didn’t bother opening his optics to look around. Nothing could possibly be wrong in a place so wonderfully calm.

But even as he relaxed into the welcoming sensations, the medic couldn’t help but sense that something was terribly wrong.

The medic sent out a command to make his right hand move. He wanted to squeeze his fist and feel the silkiness of his surroundings through his sensitive fingertips. But when he tried, nothing happened. So he tried again.

Nothing.

Panic began to set in as Ratchet tried to move his left hand then his peds. He found that his optics wouldn’t open either and his glossa was swollen and stuck to the roof of his mouth. Though he could draw in air through his vents and move words through his vocalizer, he couldn’t make a single sound aloud or move his frame.

He’d just begun to hyperventilate when a voice vibrated through him into his very core.

“Hush now, child of Primus. What troubles you so?”

 

~o0o~

 

Drift fought his way through the black murkiness that surrounded him. Shapes morphed in the darkness, forming the shapes of sparkeaters and the long forgotten victims of Deadlock’s rage. Even the outlines of Rodion’s buildings could be seen on occasion. The shadows laughed at him as he ran passed them and they would swipe at his finials. It took all of Drift’s skill to avoid being pulled into the endless abyss.

When he saw the light at last, the white mech made a dash for it. His glossa hung out part way as he panted furiously. Without his usual grace, the speedster’s hands had become raw from Drift’s repeated stumbling and crawling back to his feet. By the time Drift threw himself through the end of the tunnel, he was fairly delirious with exhaustion.

And with pain.

His spark bounced around in his chest, bound and determined to escape the confines of its casing. The swordsmech croaked a weak sound at the feeling and immediately tried to sit up.

“No, no babe. Just relax. You’re okay.”

Drift continued trying to break through the surface, frustrated. He knew that voice, but it sounded distant, like he was trapped under water. That would explain why it was so hard to vent. The thought of being held under water only made the stressed mech fight harder. 

A pair of strong but gentle hands came to rest on Drift’s shoulder guards, pushing him back flat against the mediberth. The swordsmech would’ve recognized the feel of that mediberth anywhere. Ratchet had a habit of using covers slightly thicker than standard for his medbay. Even though he acted so cranky and distant, he had little ways of showing that he cared deeply or those in his care. He wasn’t fooling-

_Ratchet. ___

__Oh._ _

__The white mech froze at the thought of his conjunx._ _

__Memories of his conjunx flashed through his processor’s eye like a slideshow, refreshing him and revitalizing the love that he had for his prickly mate. He remembered the way Ratchet used wrenches like weapons and how he only smiled when he thought no one would see. Or how he had a weakness for metal shavings in his energon and would often eat more than he should. Primus, Drift’s spark shuddered again when he replayed the thousand kisses they’d shared and he felt his spark jump when the taste of them ghosted across his glossa…_ _

__The medic was beautiful and strong and sarcastic and perfect and-- something just wasn’t right._ _

__A hand pressed to his cheek helped to bring Drift’s spinning processor back to the present. “Vent, Drift. You’re gonna be okay.”_ _

__“What… Why am I in the medbay?”_ _

__“Everything’s gonna be okay.”_ _

__“Rodimus, what does--?”_ _

__“It’s gonna be alright, Drift. You aren’t alone.”_ _

__The swordsmech swallowed and scrabbled around under the hands holding him. His chest hurt, sending warnings of overheating to his processor. “Have I… hurt myself? My chest-“_ _

__“I know. Percy is working on something to help you right now. That is, if he’d stop explaining it and actually get it done-“_ _

__“What happened, Roddy?”_ _

__The young prime’s face then came into view above Drift. His optics were dimmed and puffy and Roddy’s usually vibrant field was limp around them. The excitable mech was subdued for some reason. A feeling of dread began to churn in the swordsmech’s chest as his best friend tried to hide away the sorrow in his own field. “Drift, I don’t think-“_ _

__“Why’s Perceptor working on something? Why aren’t Ratch and ‘Aid doing it?” The way that his amica’s face scrunched confirmed Drift’s feeling that something was terribly wrong. It was unlike Rodimus to be to reluctant and evasive under questioning. “What’s going on?”_ _

__“You… don’t remember?”_ _

__“…What?”_ _

__Drift watched as the ship’s captain fought to compose himself. “Do you remember how sick Ratch was? Because of his broken amica bond?” The swordsmech nodded, prompting the other mech to continue. “He… There was… Oh, Drift…”_ _

__It was when his best friend looked away that Drift knew. His spark pulsed once more for its bondmate, calling for the only spark that could ease its pain. But there was no answer, just empty nothingness. The sensation of nearly total loneliness took Drift’s vents away._ _

__When he tried to sit up again, Rodimus didn’t try to stop him. When the prime extended a cup of energon to Drift, the speedster barely noticed. His senses and short-term memories were slowly beginning to return._ _

__Ratchet. He’d been growing pale, forgetting things as his processor failed. His frame had gotten too weak for him to move on his own. “Roddy, why was he so sick?”_ _

__Drift watched his amica’s face crumple as Rodimus looked away. The swordsmech followed the other mech’s gaze toward the back of the medbay, toward where the private suites were. Only one’s door was closed and a series of voices and machines could be heard behind it. Try as he might, Drift couldn’t understand what was being said or who was speaking. “Why am I not with Ratchet?”_ _

__“Please, Drift-“_ _

__The swordsmech allowed his aching spark to call out again, searching desperately for Ratchet’s calming presence. Again, there was no answer, only still quiet._ _

__Ratchet’s spark had been so beautiful and full recently. Drift could still feel the presence of another in their bond, a strange sensation as they merged around it. He remembered being incomparably happy-_ _

__“Rodimus, I have to see him-“_ _

__“I’m so sorry, babe.”_ _

__Drift turned to hi amica and felt tears pricking his own optics. “I can’t stay out here, Roddy, they need me! Ratch and… and…”_ _

__The sparkling._ _

__The air whooshed harshly from Drift’s vents as everything came back._ _

__The newspark. Ratchet. Ratchet was sick because of the newsparkand-_ _

__Pharma. Rung. The broken amica bond. That was why Ratch was hurting, why he was- why he was-_ _

__Rung had said yes. They’d bonded. Then Ratchet’s color was gone and the monitor was screaming and everyone was yelling and First Aid and Perceptor and Magnus-_ _

__Tears streaked Drift’s face as he felt himself pulled to a warm chest. A strange numbness had begun to settle over him and the lids of his optics felt heavy. Staying online suddenly seemed more difficult than it ever had, even back when he was starving to death in the Dead End. Things just suddenly didn’t seem… worth it._ _

__“Hey, hey now, look at me, Drift. Don’t do that. I know what your thinking. This wasn’t your fault, sweetspark. Not a bit of it was.”_ _

__“How am I gonna make it, Roddy?”_ _

__Drift had whispered the words so quietly that he hadn’t thought the other mech heard him. But his amica’s voice was certain when he spoke, a rarely used authority entering his tone. “Because you’re still here now. After everything you’ve been through, you’re still here. And you’re not alone. Not for a klik.” Drift felt a kiss land on one of his finials. “You’ll never be alone again.”_ _

__When Drift moved to cuddle into his amica’s chest, the prime’s field opened around him. In it, Drift could feel his own pain reflected in Rodimus’s spark. Nearby, the white mech felt Ultra Magnus’ field as well, surrounding them both protectively. Usually stiff with authority, the former Enforcer’s field was surprisingly soft against his plating._ _

__The swordsmech’s vocalizer released a high keen of anguish that he was unable to control. His Ratchet, his amazing, brave, undaunted Ratchet, was gone. Drift felt his vents fluttering for air, but he couldn’t calm himself enough to actually take a breath in. Deep within his chest, his spark felt like it was seizing, pressed too tightly within its casing. But what could he do about it? The mech it longed for was gone. Drift would never hold him again or kiss him again. Even worse, their newspark, the child that they’d waited so long for, was also gone, never to know his or her sire’s love._ _

__In one cycle, Drift had lost everything that made up his future. It was too much for one mech to bare, too much to lose at once-_ _

__With the other two mechs watching over him, Drift fell to pieces._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're at TFcon, I'm the Windblade walking around in a Decepticon jacket (because I'm freezing cold) :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my favorite thing I learned at TFcon...

The voice didn’t come from just one place, it came from all around him. It was in his veins, in the energon running through him. Ratchet could feel the voice consuming him from the inside, working its way from his spark outward.

“Open your optics, medic.”

When he did, Ratchet found himself standing upright, no longer on the mediberth in the medbay. It took several kliks before the former CMO dared try to use his vocalizer. But when he began to speak, the words left him in a gust of misty air.

His surroundings rapidly came into focus, closing in around him too quickly. 

Windows lined the wall before him, giving him a view of the valley outside. Ratchet was forced to blink as the light outside blinded him momentarily and he realized that he was gazing out at a snow-covered landscape, treacherous in his uninhabitability. Every breath that left his mouth crystallized in the air before him, disappearing as it cooled with the air around him.

He knew this place well. Too well. But he couldn’t be here. There had to be-

“Indeed, you cannot be. You are on the Lost Light.” The voice echoed around the darkened room, leaving no trace of its owner for Ratchet to find. 

When the medic pulled his gaze from the frozen land outside, he knew what he’d see. Mediberths were lined up in rows behind him and medical equipment was stacked in a disarray on tables along the walls. Even the lab sinks were filled with broken glasses and scraps of patch metal. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, indicating that the space, despite it being ideally suited to be a medical ward, had obviously been abandoned for some time. 

Something clattered to the ground in the hallway outside, making Ratchet’s spark jump in his chest.

A new voice, tinged with the subtle hint of aristocratic breeding, rang out from a mech in the hallway. “I- I can’t do it! I swore an oath!” A long pause ensured before the voice cried out again, this time with even more distress. “That’s too many! Have you lost your slagging-“

Ratchet would know that voice anywhere.

He scrambled backward toward the row of windows, trying to make himself smaller in the shadows. Whatever nightmare this was, it was new. Usually he was in The Box, or covered in Ambulon’s energon, or-

Something like a strangled choke sounded from outside the door, followed by the thud of knees hitting the floor. When the sound finally stopped, breathless gasps took their place. The harsh vents were interspersed with hoarse sobs and coughing.

Yes, this nightmare was definitely new.

Ratchet listened as something was dragged across the floor toward the room he occupied. It wasn’t long before the source of the sounds became visible across the dimly lit room.

With a series of pained gasps and curses, Pharma dragged himself into the room and kicked the door shut behind himself. As Ratchet watched, silent and still, the other medic clutched at his own helm. He appeared to be trying to manually pry his own plating open-

“He cannot hear or see you, medic.”

Despite the words spoken deep in his spark, it still took Ratchet several clicks before he finally stood upright. The flyer across the room didn’t acknowledge him at all, still clawing at his own audials. Slowly, Ratchet stepped from the shadows and made his way toward the slumped form near the door.

Pharma had made it onto his knees, one bright blue hand splayed against the floor to hold himself upright. Drawing closer, Ratchet could hear him muttering to himself. “Please, please, please-“

Directing his first question to the voice within, Ratchet whispered as he circled his former amica. “What’s wrong with him?”

As Pharma continued to struggle, the voice answered in a tone dark with sadness. “He’s trying to disable his audials, but they are not where the pain comes from. It is useless.”

Though the answer surprised him, Ratchet couldn’t help but be underwhelmed by it. “Can you give me an actual explanation here? What is hurting him and can it be stopped?”

“Would you stop his pain if you could, medic?”

Silence fell as Pharma gave up trying and clawed uselessly at the floor. The paint on his once-blue fingertips was already chipped away, indicating that he’d done this many times before. 

Soon, Pharma’s angry curses were reduced to whimpering pleas instead of loud, angry cries. Visibly spent, the flight frame collapsed to the floor. One of his wings was pinched under himself, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Admittedly, the sight of the once-brilliant doctor trembling on the floor nearly brought Ratchet to his knees.

Leaning over the other mech and still keeping his distance, the former CMO glared inwardly at where the voice seemed to originate from. “What kind of slag is this?! Stop it!”

“Stop what, medic?”

“Whatever is happening to him! Stop it!”

By now, Pharma’s sensitive medic hands were smearing energon across the floor, painting it a sickly color. When Ratchet tried to touch the white plating of Pharma’s left wing, he found his own hand sinking through it, unable to feel his former amica at all. He could only watch as the jet writhed on the floor.

“What’s happening to him?”

“Tarn whispers to him.”

Under Ratchet’s hovering hands, Pharma finally fell still. His optics were wide, but dull, seeing nothing as his frame stiffened once more. Even though Ratchet felt nothing for his deranged amica, Pharma’s next words shook him to the core.

“Ratchet... please, slag you... answer me!”

Standing up abruptly, Ratchet turned away from the mech on the floor. “What kind of nightmare is this? I don’t give a slag what happens to him. Especially after Ambulon-“

“This is before.”

Ratchet had only taken a step toward the doorway when the words sank in. “What?”

“This is before the Lost Light. Before Ambulon was murdered…” The voice shifted, like the speaker was turning away. “This happened perhaps 48 cycles after Pharma’s arrival at Delphi. It is not the first time, either.”

“This… happened?” The former CMO turned back to look down at his former amica. If the voice was telling the truth, then this would’ve been around the time Ratchet had been deployed for Earth—out of Delphi’s comm. range.

“Indeed it did. A deal was made. He had no choice but to cooperate…”

The implication struck Ratchet with enough force to finally bring him to his knees. Pharma had been tortured by Tarn and the DJD, had believed that Ratchet had left him on his own. Pit knew what the leader of the DJD had told him… had done to him…

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you must understand that your amica did not turn on you out of choice. It is important that you know this before breaking your bond with him.”

On the floor, Pharma had stopped shaking and was hauling himself upright. He looked dazed and more than a little confused as he climbed to his peds, balancing himself with a hand against the wall. When he was steady enough, the medic pulled away, leaving a grotesque handprint as he did. 

Ratchet watched as the flyer clumsily wiped the energon of his hands with a towel from his subspace and then proceeded to scan the room with wary optics. For a klik, Ratchet could’ve sworn that those pale blue points focused once on him before Pharma wobbled slightly and made his way unsteadily from the abandoned medical ward.

Feeling the sudden need to defend himself, Ratchet kept his optics on the empty doorway as he spoke. “He still killed Ambulon. And tried to kill me.”

“True. But would you not go mad to if the Voice of Death were whispering in your helm every cycle that you lived, threatening to kill everyone in your care unless you complied?”

“He’s not the same mech as the one I bonded to-“

“That is not the point of showing you this. You sought closure in the breaking your amica bond, Ratchet. Now you have it.”


	17. Chapter 17

First Aid manually pulled Ratchet’s chest plating apart as he searched for a sparkspin. The monitors around him told him what he already knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up yet. Across the mediberth from him, Velocity was feverishly trying to revive Rung, pressing a second syringe into the little orange mech’s neck cables.

Growling in frustration, the new CMO forced his hands to stay steady as he injected Ratchet’s spasming spark with conductive gel. The lifeless mech on the table jerked slightly as First Aid administered the stimulant. The young medic willed the tears from his optics at the sight of Ratchet’s twitching frame and quickly attached the spark machine clamps to the fragile outer casing of his spark chamber.

As he moved toward the machine, First Aid caught sight of Velocity bending over the mech in the chair. She was rapidly massaging the outside of Rung’s bared spark chamber, trying to stimulate the failing spark within to no avail. Already, Rung’s little frame was cooling, void of color and completely limp under the femme’s hands-

And then there was Perceptor.

The scientist was working nearby, staring down at Ratchet with furious determination on his face. It wasn’t unusual to the see the scientist so focused on a project or an idea. But instead of that calm focus being reflected in his field, Perceptor’s field was filled overwhelmingly with horror as he moved about, helping Velocity fill syringes and move equipment as she asked. First Aid allowed himself to be curious over Perceptor’s field for a klik before dismissing it hurriedly.

First Aid refocused all of his energy on the mech under his hands, trying to calm himself enough to think straight. He’d never revived a carrying mech before. In fact, he’d never dealt with a carrying mech before on his own.

Ratchet had always been there with his expertise, guiding him through the tests and birthing processes. Throughout Starscream’s dramatic emergence and Radius’ near-death experience during the newspark drop, First Aid had been able to learn from the older mech. But never once had a carrier offlined with the newspark still in utero.

“Don’t do this to me, Ratch, come on-“

 

~o0o~

 

Pharma was long gone, stumbling his way down the hallway until Ratchet could no longer hear his peds against the floor. What he’d just witnessed left the room even more cold than it had been before the other medic’s arrival. 

Still on his knees, Ratchet stared blankly at the floor in front of him. Smears of energon, left behind by Pharma’s frantic clawing, were drying there before him. Reaching out, the medic lined his own hand up with the streaks, seeing the way that his fingers, once Pharma’s, still lined up perfectly with the marks. 

He’d failed many times in his lifecycle. Patients had died on his table. Friends had cried out to him, begging him to save them when Ratchet knew that he could not. The battle-hardened medic was no stranger to failure. But having finally seen the truth behind his amica’s madness, he suffered the worst feeling of failure that he’d ever experienced.

“Does First Aid know? Did Ambulon?”

“No.” The voice was quiet, more distant as it whispered from Ratchet’s aching chest. “They were unaware of the DJD’s contact with Pharma.”

Weakly, Ratchet murmured at the energon on the floor. “He’s a murderer.”

“Yes, that cannot be denied. But the creation of his path to that point cannot be denied either.”

From the floor, Ratchet turned his helm to face the door. There was no doubt that his amica had been deeply wounded here. Pharma’s mind had fractured under the stress, destroying the brilliant doctor that Ratchet had once known. Sure, Pharma had been prideful and self-absorbed. He’d been brash and volatile by nature. But he certainly hadn’t been a killer. He’d held his oaths high-

And Ratchet had left him. Had run off to Earth without saying goodbye. Why had he done that? He had no reason to leave his amica without a goodbye, no reason other than his own ruinous pride. Seeing where it had led to now, Ratchet understood that the price had been far, far too high.

“Who are you?”

It was several kliks before the voice returned, even more faint with every word it spoke. “You already know who I am, Ratchet.”

Outside, a roar rose up. When Ratchet looked, he saw that the snow-layered landscape was disappearing, imploding on itself in waves. The room around him was growing pale as well, slowly being overwhelmed by the growing brightness.

The equipment in the room began to vibrate and blur. The walls followed suite, disintegrating into nothingness as the cold air was replaced with the familiar smell of disinfectant. Warmth returned to the old medic’s plating and something shifted within his chest. It took him a moment before he recognized the feeling of his newspark there, resting easily as if nothing at all were amiss.

Ratchet felt a tingling sensation and found that his hands had begun to disappear, one digit at a time. Strangely, the sight wasn’t at all distressing to watch. As his wrists vanished and the feeling began in his forearms and peds, the old medic lifted his optics to the ceiling. “Is he with you now?”

The pause that followed stretched on until even Ratchet’s shoulders had begun to bleed into white light. Just as it closed in on his helm, the voice answered him a final time.

“I’m sorry.”

 

~o0o~

 

First Aid’s plating sizzled from the aftereffects of the shock, his paint bubbling at the edges. He managed to catch himself before he could fall to the floor. Perhaps using his own spark energy hadn’t been wise, but he hadn’t had another choice.

Across the berth, Velocity was wrapping Rung’s slender frame in a heated blanket. The orange mech was blinking slowly, his field filled with confusion and disorientation. His color was still mostly undetectable as Velocity continued rubbing at his plating and she neatly slipped a mask over his mouth before he could voice a single protest. Within kliks, the spent therapist was venting easier. His helm lolled against the femme’s arm and she looked down at him with undisguised relief.

First Aid lowered the clamps to his mentor’s frame a final time. His fingers were clumsy as he struggled with the spark cords, but he somehow managed to reconnect them to Ratchet’s outer spark casing. He couldn’t give up, not yet. The machine beside him charged up slowly, drawing its charge to full before beeping that it was ready-

_Beep. Whirr. Beep, beep. Whirr. Beep- ___

__With the machine fully charged and ready to administer the shock, First Aid paused at the sound beside his helm. That shouldn’t be possible. There had to be a malfunction-_ _

__But a glance down told First Aid that it was true._ _

__Ratchet’s biolights flared brightly in time with the machine, fluttering as color blossomed across his warming armor. First Aid resisted the urge to collapse with relief. He knew that Ratchet would roll his optics at him, but he whispered his next words reverently anyway._ _

__“Thank you, Primus.”_ _


	18. Chapter 18

Drift lay limply in his amica’s arms, staring blankly at the ceiling. Beside him, Rodimus shifted, further securing the ailing swordsmech against his chest. The red speedster hadn’t let Drift leave his field range since Ratchet’s offlining, keeping a careful optic on his friend’s fluctuating vitals.

The breaking of a conjunx-level spark bond was notorious for being deadly. If one member of a healthily formed spark bond passed away, the surviving mech or femme faced a 36% chance of following behind. Though the threat was still under half, Rodimus was taking no chances.

Following the traumatic events in the medbay, Ultra Magnus had carried Drift to the private neighboring suite so that he could recover somewhat. Plus, First Aid wouldn’t want the swordsmech to get too far without a thorough spark exam. As Ratchet’s fractured amica bond with Pharma had proven, bond breaking was no simple matter. It would be quite some time before Drift would be back to normal functioning. If he would ever be able to do so, that is.

Quietly, the prime reached out to his own conjunx off the side of the berth. Upon seeing what his mate was reaching for, Magnus silently extended to him an opened cube of midgrade.

Taking the cube in hand, Rodimus tilted it toward his amica’s mouth. “Come on, babe. You gotta take some, just a little bit…”

The swordsmech turned his chin away from the prime’s guiding fingers and silently buried his face in his friend’s abdominal plating. Rodimus stroked the side of Drift’s helm, his voice soft in the shuddering mech’s audials. “Listen to me, sweetspark, you have to take some fuel. I know it hurts and I know you don’t feel like it. But I need you to try for me. Please.”

When Rodimus tried again, the white mech in his lap moaned long and low, a sound filled with all the agony that Drift felt. It brought tears to the prime’s optics and he shifted Drift even higher into his chest. His amica’s vents ghosted faintly against Rodimus’ throat cables. “I’ve got you, Drift. I’ve got you.”

Rodimus connected optics with his mate over the top of Drift’s helm. Ultra Magnus’ field was wrapped protectively around both of them, offering up his own strength to sustain the swordsmech. The big mech’s frown was deeper than usual as he watched over the two speedsters, desperate to help, but unable to do so.

In the next room over, frantic clanking could still be heard as the remaining two medics fought to bring Ratchet back online. Drift burrowed his helm firmly against his amica’s throat, desperate for the sounds to stop. The noise sustained a flicker of hope in his wounded spark and the swordsmech didn’t think he could stand to have it much longer.

It was over. Ratchet was gone and it was over.

 

~o0o~

 

Sure there was a sparkspin, but nothing else seemed to be working.

First Aid’s hands were overcharged with how fast he was making them work. He was truly working against time now, trying to get an energon flow to the protoform in Ratchet’s gestation chamber. Though the medic had been able to detect the weak pulse of Ratchet’s spark, he hadn’t been able to confirm one for the sparkling itself.

Velocity worked across from him, frantically connecting her own medical diagnostic cord to Ratchet’s other arm. Despite the dangers involved, First Aid had already connected his own. He’d never given up at Delphi, it simply wasn’t in his nature. Under Ratchet’s tutelage, he’d only gotten more stubborn, more determined. When First Aid’s patients could fight no longer, he fought for them in their stead. Ratchet’s battle would be no different.

 

~o0o~

 

Drift had become used to pain in the gutters. He’d been stabbed, shot, raped. Everything that could’ve happened to him had happened. But compared to losing Ratchet, all those traumas seemed small and insignificant.

He could feel the fields of his amica and his amica’s mate nearby, trying to comfort him and help him through the pain. But Drift couldn’t begin to focus on anything more than the emptiness in his spark. The way it spun sluggishly and seemingly without purpose... his purpose for living was gone, extinguished, taken from him too soon.

Above him, Rodimus was placing gentle kisses across Drift’s helm finials. But the swordsmech was too spent to acknowledge or appreciate the gesture. When the prime tried to offer him fuel, he could only turn away from it. Primus, he was too weak to even talk-

Off the side of the berth, Ultra Magnus stiffened perceivably. Faintly, Drift became of the large blue mech’s voice, speaking quickly to Rodimus. While Drift’s lagging processor couldn’t quite understand the words, he was aware of the sudden jump in his amica’s field and the way that the prime above him sat up straighter. When Rodimus moved, Drift released a pathetic mewl, hoping that his friend understood. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to lie down and rest, to sleep with his grief and, maybe, never wake up.

But Rodimus was insistent as he propped his amica upright, supporting Drift by the shoulders. “Drift, look at me-“

Before him, Rodimus was speaking rapidly, his hands clutching at Drift’s shoulders as he tried to get his amica’s attention. It was several more kliks before the swordsmech even attempted to understand his friend’s excited chatter.

“Alive- Drift- _need you _\- his spark-“__

__The TIC couldn’t comprehend the joy in his amica’s lashing field. It made no sense. Though their shared amica bond, Drift could feel the prime’s excitement, jostling his end of the bond in its enthusiasm. What could possibly make his friend so happy right now?_ _

__The thought that Rodimus could be happy at a time like this caused a flicker of despair in Drift’s spark. There couldn’t be anything worth being happy over-_ _

__“Drift, look at me,” Rodimus’ smile was radiant in its authenticity, dragging Drift unwillingly to the surface of his suffering, “Babe, he’s alive! They got him back online!”_ _

__For several kliks, the swordsmech simply stared at his friend, unable to understand. Then, swallowing thickly, Drift allowed the flicker of hope to grow in his spark. “Ratchet’s- alive?”_ _

__“Yes! It’s still serious, but First Aid has a sparkspin-“_ _

__“Newspark…?”_ _

__At that, Rodimus’ face fell somewhat. Before the prime could speak, Ultra Magnus was making his way into Drift’s line of sight. “They don’t know about the sparkling yet, but Ratchet is gaining color according to Perceptor’s last comm.”_ _


	19. Chapter 19

Drift hadn’t left his mate’s side in five cycles, sleeping on the mediberth with him and being largely impossible when it came to refueling. The mech obstinately refused to take energon as it would require him sitting up and away from his unconscious mate. He was practically attached to Ratchet, unwilling to move even when First Aid or Velocity came to monitor his sparkspin.

The swordsmech’s spark had suffered terribly from its mate’s offlining. In fact, he’d been lucky to survive the ordeal at all with all the distress it had put his frame through. Drift’s spark, already weakened from his history of starvation and drug abuse, had nearly collapsed when his bond with the medic had been broken. Only a brief merge with Rodimus had been able to stabilize it enough that First Aid deemed Drift to be in the safe zone.

At some point, Rung had been moved into the next room where he’d been quickly surrounded by his waiting amicas. The little orange mech had no shortage of cuddle buddies and energon bringers, so First Aid had elected to leave his care largely to Velocity and Co. Currently, Rung was curled up comfortably against a surprisingly protective Brainstorm’s chest while Nautica brought the hovering Nightbeat and Velocity more fuel. The little group was quiet on their side of the wall, waiting in suspense for their newest amica to come back online in the next room.

Drift pushed his nasal bridge against his mate’s cool cheek and sighed heavily. His lack of fuel was definitely beginning to affect him; he knew that First Aid would soon force him to take a drip if he didn’t drink a cube or two within the next cycle. But the mere thought of refueling while his conjunx’s condition still hung in the balance made Drift’s tanks turn.

The swordsmech had almost fallen back into recharge when a familiar field wafted around him. Drift shifted just enough so that he could brush his lips across his beloved’s neck cables. He hadn’t felt Ratchet’s presence for several cycles. His spark, though it was on its way to healing, was raw from Drift’s constant prodding as he searched for a hint of the bond he’d had with the surly medic.

The throat cables under his lips shifted and Drift wiggled closer to the other mech. He didn’t particularly care what happened anymore. If Ratchet never came back online, then he had no reason to continue on. 

Drift moaned as his tank twisted and growled. He recognized the familiar pain that came with fuel deprivation. It wasn’t critical yet, but his reserves had been severely drained. Within the speedster’s chest, his spark pounded and he felt more than a little light-helmed as his frame yelled at him to fuel. But fueling meant that he would have to move away from the mech on the berth. Leaving for even a klik meant that he ran the risk of missing a change in Ratchet’s wellbeing.

“Drifter?”

The white speedster pulled a ragged breath in through his vents, trying to get his processor together. He knew that he had a duty to the ship and that he wasn’t alone in this. If Ratchet couldn’t find his way back, he knew that Rodimus and the rest of the Lost Light would help him as much as they could. 

Drift thought briefly of Swiftblaze, his amica’s tiny mechling. He could see the sparkling in his mind’s optic, happy and healthy and strong. The swordsmech felt a pang of shame at the thought of how jealous he’d once been of his amica’s happiness. He doubted that Rodimus had been able to spend much time with poor little ‘Blaze due to Drift being so needy as of late-

A hand moved to rest lightly on the back of the exhausted speedster’s helm and Drift choked on a sob. Primus, he’d done everything right! He’d pulled himself from the gutter to prove Ratchet right, that he was special! He’d kicked the drugs and the prostitution to the curb. He’d discarded his guns in favor of mastering swordsmanship and self-control. Yet somehow Primus had forsaken him still, robbing him of the one thing that mattered to him most-

“Drift.”

At the sound of his name, the knight shifted closer to the mech in the berth. The hand from before smoothed warm fingertips against Drift’s quivering finials, slowly drawing away some of the tension that had settled in them over the past few cycles. The swordsmech found his optics closing at the sensation, enjoying the safety that the familiar gesture brought him. The field he’d felt moments ago unfurled around him, caressing his fluttering vents.

“I’m here, Drift. I’m right here.”

It seemed, suddenly, as if the lights had finally come on in the speedster’s dark processor. The voice, the hand, the field…

Drift sat up so quickly that his fuel-deprived processor spun.

Further up the berth, Ratchet’s optics, though still very dim, blinked down at him. A soft smile pulled at the carrying mech’s lips as his field reached out to reassure his trembling mate. 

The knight felt his vocalizer glitch, not that he could’ve found anything to say in that moment anyway. Whatever air had been in his vents escaped in a single gust, leaving Drift breathless as he looked down at the mech he loved. If this was a dream, then he never wanted to come online again. “R-Ratch?”

“Hey, kid.”

A klik later, Drift found himself madly planting kisses across his conjunx’s face, wrapping his limbs around the medic. Ratchet released a pleased groan, struggling to catch the other mech’s mouth. It took a few tries, but eventually he managed to wrangle the frantic swordsmech’s lips onto his own.

When their mouths finally found each other, Drift’s vents flew open, gasping air desperately. He could focus on nothing beyond his mate and the pounding of his own spark, the way Ratchet’s field, still drowsy from being dormant for so long, swirled around him and eased the stiffness from his spinal strut. Succumbing fully, the speedster cried brokenly as he pushed more kisses across Ratchet’s face. “You were- Ratch, I thought- oh gods-“

Drift thought that his chest would explode with all of the pressure within his spark. His very core was crying out for the other mech, begging him to merge, to bond, to-

A similar call answered his own, and the swordsmech watched Ratchet’s optics glaze slightly. Drift hadn’t been able to feel his mate’s presence for cycles. He’d been left in the dark, all alone for so long… to feel the medic now, once more alive and calling for his very soul just as hungrily as he himself did, nearly drove Drift to a fresh torrent of tears.

Before the knight could act on the sudden need to bond with his mate, the door to their private suite opened to admit a wide-opticed First Aid. The younger medic’s field was glowing with happiness as he shot Velocity a comm. and made his way toward the couple in the berth. “I just wanna run a couple scans to make sure everything is clear.”

Drift allowed his helm to be taken between two steady hands and guided back to face his mate. Ratchet’s optics were bright as he pulled his mate’s mouth back down to his once more. More than happy to oblige him, the swordsmech allowed his older conjunx to guide the kiss. They were soon oblivious to First Aid’s bustling and shifting and neither of them noticed when Velocity joined him to collect the diagnostics needed.

To say the least, Drift was far from willing to stop when his mate pulled back from the kiss. Ratchet didn’t go far though, murmuring something so softly that even the swordsmech couldn’t catch the words whispered against his mouth. “Huh?”

Ratchet blinked slowly, his kiss-bruised lips pulling into a smile against Drift’s own. “She’s happy.”

“Who is- wait. You can…?”

“I can feel her, Drift. She’s happy. Our femmeling is happy.”

And just like that, the knight fell for his conjunx all over again, kissing Ratchet deeply as he thanked Primus for the thousandth time for how lucky he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all's comments give me life and feed my creativity. I get some great ideas from them, so please leave a word or two! :)


	20. Chapter 20

When Rodimus finally managed to drag his amica off of the mediberth, it was only so that Drift would sit in a chair in the same room. The swordsmech abstinently refused to leave the mediberth’s side and he had to be touching Ratchet wherever he was. Even when First Aid threatened to knock him into stasis so that he’d be forced to take drip, Drift merely ignored him in favor of staring at his carrying mate on the berth. 

If Rodimus hadn’t caught Magnus looking at him the same way every once in a while, he would’ve thought it was disgusting.

Ratchet had been confined to berthrest following his ordeal and for once he didn’t fight First Aid’s decision. Currently, the old medic was cuddled up amid a menagerie of pillows and blankets, all of them perfectly placed to take any and every strain from his struts. Drift had been obsessive in their placement, decorating Ratchet’s exhausted frame with kisses and caresses as he did. Again, if Rodimus hadn’t understood… but he did understand Drift’s doting and he couldn’t have been happier for his amica.

The prime had to physically wrap his friend’s hand around the cube he’d brought for him. “Drift, c’mon, you still have to drink this before First Aid comes back.”

There was no response from the other speedster and Rodimus sighed heavily, only slightly exasperated. First Aid had been patient, but the new CMO didn’t get that title for nothing. He had become just as sarcastic and fearsome as his predecessor and Rodimus knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kick Drift clear out of the medbay if it meant that the speedster got some recharge. “Babe, you have to pay attention for just a klik and-“

Finally, after two full cycles of remaining fixated on his mate, the swordsmech pulled his gaze away from his conjunx endura to look at Rodimus. 

Drift’s plating was pale from lack of fuel, but his smile held more life than Rodimus had ever seen in his friend. The knight was practically glowing, his field was so bright with love and joy. But when the young prime looked into his amica’s optics, still dark with exhaustion, he saw the terrible fear that they held.

“Primus, Roddy… I almost lost him. I almost lost everything.”

And just like that, the damn broke. After so many cycles laying with his mate and refusing to leave his side, after hours of praying to and pleading with and cursing at any listening gods, Drift cried tears of overwhelmed relieve. As Rodimus pulled his best friend into a tight embrace, he understood that fuel and recharge exhaustion were likely the causes of the breakdown. Any mech in the knight’s position wouldn’t long since broken under the pressure.

Gently, Rodimus’ traced the other mech’s finials with light fingertips until they sagged from their stiff posture. “I know, but he’s fine now. And so is she. Are you excited to meet your little girl?”

The question drew a quiet hiccup from Drift’s quivering vents. “Yes! But…”

“But…?”

“Do you think she’ll like me?”

If Rodimus hadn’t already been sitting, he might’ve fallen down. He pulled back to see his friend’s face, searching for some indication that Drift was joking. Upon finding nothing but sincere worry, the prime laughed out loud. “Primus, Drift! How could she not love you? You’re her creator, her sire! She’s gonna love you, babe, because you are amazing and you’re gonna be the best sire this ship’s ever seen. Well, except Magnus of course.”

The joke finally prodded a tired snort from Drift who sat up just enough for Rodimus to see his face again. Gingerly, the prime smiled at the other speedster and wiped the tear streaks from the swordsmech’s face with a thumb. “I know she’s gonna adore you, Drift. Swiftblaze sure as Pit does.”

“Do you think they’ll get along? She and ‘Blaze?”

“Of course they will! I just hope that the ship is ready for all the trouble they get into together. You never know what kind of trouble a sparkling of yours and one of mine could get into together… well. I just hope I have a ship left in the end.”

Drift swallowed and righted himself, looking back at where Ratchet lay on the mediberth. The medic was still in recharge, a peaceful smile on his lips. It was unusual to see the notoriously aggressive doctor so calm, but Drift knew that he was just resting. When he woke, he’d be right back to his sassy, exasperated self.

“Here, drink this before Aid gets back. He’ll kick you out and drip you up if you don’t.” Glancing over at his amica, Drift took the offered cube into his hands as Rodimus continued. “Plus, you and I are amica bonded. If she’s anything like you at all, she and ‘Blaze are gonna be inseparable.”

Drift quietly sipped at his cube and found himself trying to picture his unborn sparkling. Would she have his fangs? What about his original optics, golden-yellow? Drift hoped not.

He hoped that she was like Ratchet in every way. Strong. Witty. Beautiful and smart, caring and sarcastic. Drift prayed that she got nothing from himself at all.

“Hey, Drift? You good over there?”

A hand landed lightly on his back and Drift sighed. He should’ve known that he couldn’t hide anything from his best friend. They were bonded together after all.

As the words left his vocalizer, Drift knew that he sounded pathetic. “I don’t want her to be like me, Roddy.”

The prime squinted at him, his helm cocked in honest confusion before realization dawned. Instead of the understanding pity that Drift had expected, his friend’s field welled with anger. “Why the frag not? She would be lucky to have any piece of you in her coding.” Warming to the topic, Rodimus’ hand tightened on the other mech’s arm until Drift turned to face him.

The captain’s optics and field were adamant as he gazed into his amica’s face. “You can’t do that to yourself anymore, Drift. You know why? Because you made it. You’re here, alive and well. So is your mate. You’re both here and you’re gonna have a gorgeous little femmeling and you don’t get to do that to yourself anymore. She’ll see it, she’ll sense how you feel. You have to stop that.”

“But she almost didn’t exist! Because of me and my past and-“

“No ‘but’s or ‘and’s are allowed here, Drift. She is proof that you made it out of all the awful slag you’ve been through. You survived. And she’s proven so far that she’s a fighter. A little survivor, just like you. So you don’t get to do that anymore, the self-degrading and shaming. She’s already taking after you in all the ways that count.”

Upon finishing his speech, Rodimus’ cheeks were blushed with heat and his field was sparking against Drift’s plating. The passionate display told Drift that the other mech fully believed in what he was saying. Unable to come up with an argument, the swordsmech gulped down the tightness in his throat and, leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against his steaming friend’s cheek. “Roddy, I love you.”

“Damn right you should. I love you too and don’t you forget it.” The red and yellow mech was grinning when Drift pulled back, even as his field still fluttered excitedly around them. 

“Thanks. For reminding me and everything.”

“It’s my job, babe.” Rodimus nodded over the other mech’s shoulder toward Ratchet on the mediberth. “When he’s down, somebody’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

Drift allowed himself a small smile before tilting back the cube and finishing it with one gulp.


	21. Chapter 21

For being such a highly trained ex-assassin, the white speedster was a professional cuddler. Ratchet knew firsthand about Drift’s talent, he often found himself as the victim of it, after all. If ‘victim’ was the appropriate word for the wonderful comfort that he found in his conjunx embrace.

It was his second cycle after being released from the medbay and Drift had doted on him non-stop. The knight had been virtually flying around their shared hab, burying Ratchet in blankets, pillows and an abundance of insistent kisses. At first, the medic had shrugged off his mate’s attention grumpily, feigning impatience. But after a particularly desperate kiss, Ratchet hooked a hand around Drift’s arm and pulled the speedster down on top of himself on the berth.

“Careful Ratch! You’re carrying!”

Like he needed the reminder. Over the past few cycles since his near-deactivation in the medbay, Ratchet’s middle had gotten positively gravid. When Drift allowed his mate to his peds, the medic was reduced to waddling around their hab, one hand braced against his rounded belly. 

Becoming a carrier had been quite the lifestyle change for the career-oriented medic. Though he’d never been a sleek speedster build, Ratchet had still been stocky and strong. Now? The ambulance found himself unbalanced and weak, clumsy and constantly tired. He was always hungry and his spinal strut ached more than it usually did due to the sparkling’s added weight. Not to mention that his valve was constantly aching to be full of Drift’s spike.

Really, the entire situation had become highly inconvenient for the hard-working senior medic of the Lost Light.

Ratchet hugged his conjunx close, allowing himself a smile as Drift worried over him. The speedster had taken First Aid’s instructions to spark, following them to a T and acting like Ratchet himself wasn’t a medic to be reckoned with. Drift squirmed in his mate’s hold, trying to move himself further out of Ratchet’s arms and away from the bulging baby bump between them. “Seriously, Ratty, ‘Aid said that you should-“

“Did you just… what kind of bastardization of my designation was that?”

Drift had the grace to look slightly guilty, but it was short lived. A klik later, he was trying to pull away again. Ratchet held on all the tighter, his arms unaffected by the fatigue that had settled over his frame. With a sigh of exasperation, the swordsmech allowed himself to be held. “You’re due for your energon and then your supplements and then we have to-“

“Stay here.”

“But I have to-“

“Not right this klik. Just… hold me.”

It was unusual for Ratchet to blatantly ask for something like the speedster’s infamous cuddling. Perhaps that’s why Drift immediately stopped fighting and lifted his hand to Ratchet’s forehelm. “Are you feeling okay?”

Ratchet opened his mouth to answer, but found his voice trapped in his throat. Was he okay? After finding out the truth about Pharma and seeing what Tarn had done, the old medic wasn’t sure if he’d be truly okay for some time. His feelings concerning his former amica hadn’t changed; he still hated him for what he’d done at Delphi and on Luna 1. But now that he knew why those events had been possible, Ratchet couldn’t help but do what he did best behind closed doors: he blamed himself.

Drift’s field prodded at Ratchet’s own, laced with worry and growing distress. The medic realized then that he hadn’t answered and quickly cleared his vocalizer. “I’m as good as I can be after almost dying.”

Drift’s field immediately fell still around them and his attempts as pulling away ceased instantaneously. He lifted round blue optics to look at Ratchet’s and the carrying mech recognized the look in those optics. Ratchet had seen that look in them before, long ago when they’d been drug hazed and golden.

The speedster reciprocated when Ratchet pulled him close, pressing his face into the other mech’s neck. Ratchet couldn’t have begun to imagine what his mate had been through in those cycles when he was offline. Drift had tried to tell about how he hadn’t been able to detect Ratchet’s field, hadn’t felt his presence in his spark. During the time that Ratchet had been out, his conjunx bond with Drift had apparently been severed, leaving the speedster bereft and alone.

They clung to each other like that for several kliks, neither one of them willing to let the other go. When Drift finally spoke, his voice was rough against his mate’s throat cables. “I lost you. You were gone and, gods, Ratchet, it _hurt _.”__

__“I’ll never leave you again, sweetspark.”_ _

__Ratchet could tell by his mate’s wavering field that the knight wasn’t convinced. Before the medic knew what he was doing, he was shifting his arms until Drift’s face was cradled between his hands._ _

__Drift’s handsome face was scrunched slightly, his brow furrowed as he gazed intensely at the mech he clung to. It broke Ratchet’s spark to see his beloved mate so upset and to know furthermore that he had been the cause of that distress. Gently, he dragged a thumb beneath Drift’s left optic, coaxing away the tears that had begun to well in his beautiful blue orbs. The action drew a genuine but pained smile to the white speedster’s face. “I love you so much, Ratch. So much-”_ _

__The medic pulled his mate’s face forward and pressed a fervent kiss to the other mech’s trembling lips, savoring the taste of Drift on his glossa._ _

__It was like a switch had been turned in the swordsmech’s helm. Upon feeling Ratchet’s mouth against his own, Drift seemed to wake up and he began kissing Ratchet back with a desperate passion that he didn’t usually have. A whine erupted from the back of his throat as he pushed forward against the medic, like he was trying to meld their frames together right then and there._ _

__When Ratchet was finally forced to pull away for air, it was only far enough for his lips to still brush against his conjunx’s. “I love you too, Drift. More than I could ever tell you.”_ _

__The sound Drift made was equal parts chuckle and sob as he moved to bury his face back in Ratchet’s neck._ _

__Ratchet allowed the other mech to hide for a little while, stroking careful fingers across the speedster’s finials. Slowly, the tension began to fade for them as he continued to pulse love and reassurance through his field, bathing Drift with his presence in every way that he could._ _

__Eventually, the carrying mech moved to pull Drift out of hiding, framing his face once more between his palms. As he gazed up at the one he loved, the mech who had sired the sparkling in his chamber, Ratchet realized that he was sure of only one thing._ _

__Pharma’s face briefly passed through his mind’s eye, sarcastic and prideful, but no longer maddened and haunted. It was Ratchet’s Pharma, the one from so long ago, when they’d first become amica. The brilliant student that Ratchet had known was long gone now, but what they had been once would be something that the carrying mech would always remember._ _

__Ratchet needed to forgive himself. For leaving the other doctor to his fate on Delphi, for not being able to save Ambulon at Luna 1. He would forgive himself for sending Drift back out of his medbay so long ago, repaired, yes, but destined to become a murderous assassin soon after. There were things that Ratchet could’ve done to save them both from what they’d been forced to become._ _

__“Drift?”_ _

__The former buymech forced himself to stay still, his vents coming in soft pants following the kiss and soft touches. “Yeah?”_ _

__“I love every part of you, even the parts that you believe you should hide away. I love you regardless of what you’ve survived and what you’ve done. And I know that she will too.” Ratchet ran a hand across his own belly, indicating the ‘she’ that he spoke of._ _

__Drift’s optics widened and the medic knew that he’d said exactly what the nervous sire had needed to hear. A klik later, the riled swordsmech was kissing furiously at Ratchet’s throat, sucking on the delicate cords and lines like his existence depended on it._ _

__Grudgingly, Ratchet reminded himself to thank Rodimus for the tip later. It had been the prime who warned him of Drift’s insecurities and fears. Despite his many flaws, the medic had to admit that Rodimus had a tendency to be insightful when it mattered most._ _

__As his mate worked up his charge and began trailing kisses down his body toward his thickened waist, Ratchet knew that everything was going to be okay. He allowed himself to relax back into the berth, succumbing to the lingering touches and adoring field. His body was heavy and sluggish and he quickly lost himself as Drift lit his frame on fire. When Ratchet cued his panel to snap open, his vents quickly dissolving into quick gasps of pleasure, the doctor closed his optics and allowed the touch of his dedicated mate to carry him away._ _


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That sweetness you've been waiting for ;)

It had taken millennia for Drift to enjoy interfacing. After his experiences surviving in the Dead End, the act had become more of a business transaction than anything close to romantic. He’d done it to survive, selling his body for the pleasure of others, all for a mere cube of fuel. It was during that time that Drift learned how to tune himself out, to ignore what was happening to his frame and allow his processor to float far above and away.

Upon becoming Deadlock, he’d used sex as a means of manipulation, of gaining power. In the ranks of the Decepticon army, interface was often violent and painful, more often taken than given. Though he himself had never committed a rape (his experiences in the Dead End played into that small bit of Deadlock’s morality), the assassin had once again been forced to use interface as a means of providing for his drug addiction and for the ever present shortage of fuel.

In short, Drift had never been touched intimately for any reason other than for trade or survival. 

Until he began to court Ratchet.

Their first interface had been awkward to say the least. Drift had suffered a minor panic attack, shutting down completely and zoning out. Ratchet had moved away from Drift, giving him his space and talking him through it quietly until the swordsmech had reached for him once more. 

It had taken several cycles before Drift had felt comfortable with trying again.

Now, as Drift felt himself consumed in both body and soul by his conjunx, he barely remembered the way things had once been. Ratchet was everywhere, his scent lingering in the swordsmech’s vents, his field playing with the sparks on Drift’s frame. The medic’s hands wrote glyphs across the speedster’s tingling plating, telling him of his love and devotion as Drift rocked endlessly into his mate beneath the covers of their berth.

Every touch rewrote the pain Drift had once felt. Every whispered word washed away the desperation and the fear that Drift had fought to overcome. It was moments like this that proved to the speedster that he had made it and that he had achieved his oldest wish against all odds.

Ratchet was his in every way, shape, and form and nothing could take him away.

Drift felt his lover breath a sigh against his cheek and shuddered at the feeling. Moments like this were one of the only times that Ratchet allowed himself to let go, to fully surrender control to another. Drift was always sure to never waste such a precious, rare giving of the medic’s hard-earned trust.

“R-Ratch- mine- I love- nngh-“

The speedster didn’t buck his hips or chase his overload like he usually did when they interfaced. After Ratchet’s brush with death, every touch was emotional and whole, each one having its own thrill. So he rolled his body, meeting the other mech’s frame in gentle strokes, drawing out the contact with every movement that he made.

Beneath him, Ratchet gazed dizzily up at the ceiling, his field a mess of happiness and desire. He panted delicately with every push-pull of his mate’s spike, occasionally moaning aloud and clenching his valve in weak, uneven flutters. “I love- you too- oh, Drift-“

A flicker of ecstasy passed through the seasoned medic’s field, an indication that his overload was close. Drift lifted himself up on an elbow so that he could look down at his lover’s face. He always loved to watch the ambulance’s optics flare white and roll upward in completion.

When Ratchet tumbled into his overload, the swordsmech caressed a hand over the medic’s cheek, guiding him back down slowly from the height of his pleasure. Drift continued to languidly sink into and retreat from his beloved’s molten heat, controlling himself in favor of prolonging the carrying mech’s overload.

As his frame relaxed, Ratchet lay his own hand over Drift’s. The corners of his mouth tilted upward in a lazy, contented smile as he gaze up at the speedster, like he believed that Drift was his entire world. The thought drew a soft whine from the swordsmech’s vocalizer. 

Unable to speak just yet and overcome with emotion, Ratchet simply nodded.

Drift immediately picked up his pace, still gentle and reverent, but with a destination in mind.

Below, Ratchet lifted his hands to tease the seams of the swordsmech’s armor, already acquainted with Drift’s most sensitive erogenous zones. As he plucked at the tense wires along Drift’s spinal strut, the medic murmured lovingly into his mate’s audial. “Cum for me, Drifter- fill me up, give me all you’ve got-“

Drift’s mouth fell open and he gasped into the pillow, a moan catching deep in his throat. There was a soft whine at end the sound, a sign of how desperate the swordsmech was as he pitched his hips forward a final time. The speedster’s spike head broke through Ratchet’s gestational wall before releasing his transfluid directly into the chamber.

The sensation of being completely entered should’ve been familiar to Ratchet, but it felt new every time anyway. Another smaller overload rocked his frame as he clung to Drift’s shoulders and he savored the way that the swordsmech’s body jolted with each spurt of transfluid. There was nothing more pure or beautiful in Ratchet’s optics than when Drift came undone.

When Drift finally pulled out, he shakily shifted off of his mate before collapsing onto their berth. His nasal bridge crinkled with bliss as he smiled lazily at the medic beside him, enjoying the look of the paint transfers on Ratchet’s white plating. That, and the medic looked thoroughly debauched in his current state, smeared with fluids, thighs still obscenely parted and panting air through raspy vents. 

Primus help him, his conjunx was gorgeous.

Carefully, Drift shifted back to press himself to his mate’s side. He lifted a hand a danced light fingers across the other mech’s distended torso and grinned when Ratchet’s vents stuttered at the sensation. “How do you feel?”

Blinking slowly, Ratchet turned his helm to gaze at the one mech he called his own. His optics were that deepest shade of blue that they always were after a good overload. “After that? Like a good recharge is in order.”

“Oh, don’t tell me I tired you out that easy, old mech.”

A snort answered Drift’s teasing. “’Old mech,’ huh? Just wait. Once we have this sparkling and you’ve gotten up five times in a nightcycle, then we’ll see who’s acting like a tired old mech.”

In place of commenting further, the swordsemch rolled closer until he could plant a light kiss against Ratchet’s swollen belly. Beneath the thinly stretched protomesh, the femmeling kicked up at her sire, like she felt him near and wanted him to know it. As a reward, Drift kissed at the plating again, only to receive a harder, more insistent kick from his daughter in response.

“Good grief, don’t get her started.” Ratchet moaned in discomfort as he half-heartedly shoved Drift’s giggling face away. “She’s already gotten a habit of kicking my tank after I refuel.”

“Little troublemaker, huh?” The speedster moved up to kiss his mate’s pouting lips, smoothing out Ratchet’s annoyed field as he did. “She’d just gonna love Rodi and ‘Blaze then.”

“Primus help us if that’s the case.”

“Did you just-“

“Shut up.”


	23. Chapter 23

When the projected emergence cycle finally came, nothing happened. The next cycle passed much the same, leaving Ratchet and Drift waiting in continued suspense.

After a week with old medic showing no sign of going into labor, the couple consulted with First Aid. 

The new CMO studied the scans he’d taken of Ratchet’s gestation chamber, his visor flickering as he carefully looked them over. “Everything appears to be fine and on schedule rather than the actual emergence itself.”

Reclined on the mediberth and forced to peer over the mound of sparkling residing within his belly, Ratchet gave his peer a glare. “Give me that-“

As his mate snatched the scans away from First Aid, Drift glanced at the results over his shoulder, unable to decipher them himself. “So… there’s nothing wrong with the sparkling though, right? She’s just- taking her time?”

“You could say that. She’s healthy and so is Ratchet. As healthy as he can be at any rate when everything you both have been through is taken into account.” First Aid shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the screen in the other medic’s hands. “You can see here, though, that she’s presenting breech. It shouldn’t be a problem if labor begins soon, but, with Ratchet’s age and his history of spark trouble, I want us to take control of the situation from the start.”

Ratchet lifted his optics from the datapad. “You want to induce her.”

“I do. I think that in this situation it would be wise. She’s on the small side for being this close to emergence and will likely require some time in intensive care-“

Drift’s finials shot straight up and his optics widened considerably. “I thought you said she was fine? I thought she was-“

“She is fine, she is.” First Aid shifted where he stood at Ratchet’s right shoulder and flipped to another shot on the datapad. “Her frame is well developed despite its size and her spark frequency is strong. But like I said, there are some variables that have convinced me that inducing her is the way to go.”

The carrying mech shared a look with his conjunx to find the younger mech’s face contorted with fear. “First Aid, could we have a moment-“

“Of course.” The red and white mech left the datapad in Ratchet’s hand and made his way toward the suite’s exit.

Once the door had clicked closed behind the other medic, the former CMO turned his helm to face his mate. “Drift-“

“I read up on this stuff, Ratty, inducing can have bad side-effects! She could have processor damage, venting difficulty, plate discoloration-“

“Drift-“

“-lower sensory function, sluggish spark signature-“

“DRIFT!”

The speedster paused in his listing of the possible complications. When he looked down at his mate on the mediberth, he saw the last thing that I thought he’d see.

The battle-experienced medic’s optic’s were wide and pale, fixated on Drift’s face. His field was wild with nervous energy as he clutched the datapad in his hand, hard enough that the knight heard it’s screen crack. Drift’s spark nearly broke when the carrying mech’s voice reached his audials, crackling with static. “You think I’m not scared for all of that too?”

“Primus, Ratch… I’m sorry.”

Drift scrambled quickly onto the mediberth and gathered his sparkling-heavy mate against his chest. He pushed insistent kisses all across Ratchet’s sensitive chevron, feeling the other mech tremble beneath his touches. How had he missed how upset the medic was? Guilt consumed Drift until it threatened to choke the air from his vents. 

Against his neck, Ratchet pushed out a shaky exvent. “You heard First Aid. She’s gonna be fine. If I were in his position, I’d suggest the same course of action for a mech like myself.”

They stayed that way for some time, wrapped up in each other’s limbs and fields until a joint comm. ping and a knock at the door drew them back to the present.

First Aid’s helm poked in through the door. “Whenever you’re both ready, I’ve briefed Velocity on our course of action. I’d like to do the same for you both before we begin.”

Drift and Ratchet connected optics a final time before the carrier on the mediberth spoke up, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. “I think we’re ready.”

 

~o0o~

 

The first injection of prostaglandogens had little effect rather than causing Ratchet’s legs to tingle slightly. The sensation was strange to say the least as he felt First Aid administer the hormone straight into his gestational wall, his valve held open with a warmed speculum. If he hadn’t been a medic experienced in performing such a procedure on others, he would’ve found the entire experience highly embarrassing.

Not that it was in any way pleasant having cold, clinical hands slicked with artificial lubricant feeling around inside of his rapidly dilating channel. If Drift hadn’t been holding both of his hands in his own, he likely would’ve reached down to swat the other doctor away. Instead, Ratchet tried his best to focus on the ceiling above and not on the increasing pressure within his abdomen.

While First Aid monitored the steady relaxing of his channel walls, Velocity had connected the IV that would administer a dose of oxytogen. That way, if the first round of hormones didn’t induce labor contractions, then the medications through the IV certainly would help the process along. Either way that labor began, the reality of what was happening finally began to set in.

Their sparkling was coming. She was coming soon.

Somehow or another, word of the induced emergence had spread throughout the ship like wildfire. Just as the crew had been excited for the birth of Swiftblaze, they seemed to be even more thrilled with the concept of this second sparkling joining the crew. Drift and Ratchet’s struggle with parenthood wasn’t widely known, but many had begun to wonder if the pair would ever decide to take the sparking-creation route. 

First Aid had finally been forced to post Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus at the medbay doors to ensure that no one tried to sneak in for a first peak at the new arrival.

“Alright, now,” First Aid settled himself between the carrying mech’s stirrup-bound peds, “Do you feel any pressure yet? Any pain?”

Ratchet grunted when the first dull pain of a contraction began in his abdomen. “Just starting to now. I’m saying… 70% dilation?”

“It’s 49% actually.”

The former CMO rolled his optics and snorted. 

Nearby, Velocity had begun preparing blankets and other tools that they might need for the emergence. They already knew that the sparkling would likely need some aid venting as she was coming breech and being induced. The sparkling also ran the risk of becoming stuck in the channel, something that First Aid was more worried about than anything else. He didn’t say that aloud though, as all he needed was for Drift to nearly faint a second time.

The white speedster was watching everything unfold with large optics and an open mouth, his field alive with tense excitement. It was clear that the sire-to-be was anxious to meet his offspring and nervous for the safety of both his sparking and his conjunx. Even though First Aid had tried to get him to wait outside until it was closer to time, Drift refused to leave Ratchet’s side even for a klik.

Ratchet released another groan, this time squeezing his optics shut as the contraction rolled through his frame. With his gaze fixed determinedly on the flexing valve before him, First Aid wordlessly patted his senior medic’s knee in silent comfort.

Drift tightened his hold on his mate’s hand when he felt the pain in Ratchet’s increasingly volatile field. The ambulance grimaced again and sucked half of a breath in through his vents.

“Don’t hold your vents,” came First Aid’s chiding voice. 

“I’m not trying to.” Ratchet’s voice was tight, indicating that the contractions were gradually becoming more powerful. A sheen of moisture had gathered across the medic’s helm and Drift gently wiped it away with a cloth, leaving a light kiss there when he was finished. His struggling mate barely seemed to notice.

Nearby, Velocity moved to stand at the carrying mech’s helm, giving Drift a comforting smile before she carefully applied the oxygen cannula to Ratchet’s olfactory. Down at the foot of the mediberth, First Aid checked the datapad in his left hand. “Alright, Ratchet, you’re showing 70%. It won’t be long now before it’s time to start pushing.”

The mech on the mediberth released a grunt deep in his throat and squirmed his hips uncomfortably. He refused to cry out or show how much it hurt, especially with Drift standing right beside him. The white speedster was already on the verge of panicking, the last thing that he needed was-

The next contraction stole the thoughts from his helm, leaving Ratchet unable to stop the choked whine from leaving his vocalizer. A hand gently brushed his cheek and soft words were whispered in his audials, but he couldn’t make himself pay attention. All he was aware of was the agony radiating from his lower spinal strut and the heightening pressure between his hips. 

“We’re not ready to push yet, just keep breathing through it- 80% dilation-“

First Aid’s clinical voice calmed the older medic’s spark somewhat, allowing him a klik or two to gather himself for the next round of contractions. Ratchet wanted to kick his legs in frustration, but upon finding them heavy and numb, he settled for slamming his helm back against the mediberth. The effect was ruined when a caring hand appeared to cushion the blow.

Drift’s field was warm where it met his plating, soothing some of the tension that had settled in Ratchet’s shoulders. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

Instinctively, the laboring mech turned his face into his mate’s chest, releasing a desperate pant against Drift’s armor. Even though he said nothing, the swordsmech seemed to understand anyway and Drift slipped one hand into the medic’s own and the other to the back of his mate’s helm. When Ratchet’s abdominal components tightened again, Drift whispered soft words into his audials, encouraging him through the worst of the pain.

“You’re at 100%, Ratchet. Push with the next contraction.”

When the pain crested and Ratchet couldn’t stand it anymore, he allowed himself to hide a weak sob against his conjunx’s plating. A moment later, Drift’s beautiful face was hovering in front of him, his own optics tear-filled and over-bright. The medic didn’t even have the energy to feel ashamed of his loss of composure when the speedster’s thumbs smoothed the tear streaks from his face. “Drift…”

Ratchet would never be a mech that admitted defeat. He knew that mechs and femmes had gone through this exact same thing in the past; he’d been the one presiding over the births of their sparklings, after all. But experiencing the pain himself was a very different matter.

Above him, his mate’s optics were soft with adoration. Ratchet didn’t have to speak for Drift to already know what he was thinking. “You’ve got this, I know you can do it. Don’t give up.”

A moment later, First Aid’s field flared outward, catching Drift’s attention. Instead of meeting either Drift’s or Ratchet’s gazes, the medic stood and gestured to Velocity, guiding her to the door as he spoke to her in hushed tones. The femme’s optics widened momentarily before she quickly departed from the suite.

“First Aid?” Drift squeezed the hand in his own when he felt Ratchet tense again with pain. “Is everything okay?”

In the time that it took the medic to answer, the swordsmech knew that something was wrong. First Aid sighed and returned to sit between Ratchet’s spread thighs. “There is a… complication.”

“What is that- supposed to- mean?!” Ratchet hissed, his optics flaring brightly as his body was rocked by another clench of his abdominals. He quickly recovered enough, however, to return his glare to the younger medic. “Is she okay?”

First Aid moved quickly up the berth, his field still calm even as his movements were fast. He presented the datapad to the other medic, pointing at the screen. “Her bio levels took a dramatic dip with that contraction a few kliks ago, so I ran a diagnostic…”

“Well?”

“Due to her presenting breech, I was worried that this might be an issue.” First Aid tilted the datapad until Drift too could see the readings.

The swordsmech wasn’t one familiar with what vital signs should look like. But seeing as the entire screen was flashing red and white, it wasn’t hard to figure out that things were suddenly going downhill. “’Aid, what’s going on? What’s wrong with her?”

“The cord is pinched and her helm is pressed up against his inner structural plating. The amniotic sac hasn't even ruptured yet...” First Aid paused long enough to look Drift dead in the optic. “She’s stuck, Drift. She's stuck and she can’t breathe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I spent several hours on WebMD for this chapter and I can deliver any baby now believe me


	24. Chapter 24

“Drift, she’s gonna be fine. The best two medics that exist are in that room and one of them is her carrier!”

Drift paced rapidly in the designated waiting area, ignoring his amica. First Aid had made him leave, stating that even his venting could contaminate the surgery that they were about to perform-

Primus, he’d nearly passed out during the amniotomy. First Aid had manually broken the gestation chamber wall, tearing a hole in it that was large enough for it to empty completely of the birthing fluids that were meant to support the sparkling within. The medic had said that doing so would help them get a better reading on the femmeling’s life signs. 

But when he’d done it, sticking a long hook-looking instrument up inside Ratchet’s valve, Drift’s mate had yelled in pain, only to sigh in relief as some of the pressure on his frame was released. The splash of silvery birthing fluid on the floor was enough to make Drift feel a little dizzy. But then Velocity had come back in and accidently walked through the mess on the floor and she’d nearly fell and the cart she’d been pushing slammed into Drift and he’d seen the surgical tools on it beneath the green sheet and-

Primus. He’d nearly fainted. 

After that, the new CMO had practically shoved Drift outside and had yelled for Rodimus to sit with him. 

Soft cooing caused Drift to turn his helm and he automatically began searching for the source of the sound, his sire protocols spinning into high gear.

Swiftblaze sat perched on Rodimus’ lap, blowing bubbles and watching as his uncle paced. The mechling’s optics grew round with interest as Drift turned to him and he giggled with delight when his carrier’s friend came closer.

Receiving a nod from Rodimus, the swordsmech reached forward and took the sparkling into his arms. Swiftblaze, seeming to sense the white mech’s distress, pushed a series of sloppy kisses across the side of Drift’s face, babbling in sparkling talk. When Drift didn’t return with the usual kisses of his own, the bitlet chirred worriedly and huddled closer against his uncle’s neck.

First Aid had decided to go in through Ratchet’s abdominal wall. With the femmeling being stuck and unable to get air, they’d decided that retrieving her straight from the gestation chamber via an incision would be the safest option for both she and Ratchet. Such a route also gave the carrying mech a reprieve from the pain, something that Ratchet had very willingly agreed to. After nearly a full cycle of next to no progress, the usually stoic medic had begun to show signs of breaking under the strain, both emotional and physical.

Due to the suite becoming an operating room, Drift had been forced to leave, giving his mate a parting kiss before the door was closed between them. There hadn’t even been time for the swordsmech to say ‘I love you.’ 

Drift buried his nasal bridge against the Swiftblaze’s neck, inhaling deeply as he tried to steady his pounding spark. Just the closeness of the sparkling’s field seemed to calm him down and he held Swiftblaze even more tightly against his chest. Over the top of the mechling’s helm, he caught Rodimus’ optic. The prime was grinning. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

Drift finally moved and placed a firm kiss against Swiftblaze’s audial. “That ‘Blaze being here would make me feel better.”

Rodimus’ smile widened. “Ratchet may have said something about it a little while back. That having him here would help you calm down better than if it were just me.”

Unsurprised that his mate would know him so well, Drift was still touched. Ratchet was the one giving emergence and yet he’d somehow thought ahead of time and knew what the swordsmech would need in the waiting room. 

How did he get so lucky?

The sound of a door opening behind him nearly had the swordsmech dropping the sparkling in his arms. Thankfully, he managed to hang onto Swiftblaze long enough to pass him back to Rodimus before he turned to meet First Aid’s gaze. “Well? Is she okay? Is Ratchet okay?”

The medic came forward, wiping his hands with a towel as he did. Drift caught the scent of disinfectant and knew that the medic had just finished washing his hands. First Aid gave the front door to the medbay a quick glance before he beckoned the swordsmech to follow him.

With a quick peek back at his amica, Drift took after the doctor, his chest heavy with anxiety. First Aid’s field was unreadable, flat with a professionalism that Drift had only Ratchet could employ while on the job. 

When the new CMO finally guided him into an adjacent suite and closed the door behind them, Drift couldn’t stand it anymore. “’Aid, where   
are they? Did everything turn out okay?”

The medic sighed and Drift felt something in his spark shift and crumble. _Primus, no- no, what if- oh, please, no- ___

__Seeming to sense the sire’s growing agitation, First Aid finally spoke for the first time. “Ratchet is fine, Drift. Your femmeling is in intensive care right now and is stable.”_ _

__Suddenly weak, Drift lifted a hand to the wall, using it to brace himself upright. “Thank you, gods…”_ _

__“But…” The doctor’s visor darkened and he clasped his hands behind himself. He seemed hesitant to continue, but visibly forced himself to speak. “Drift… I’m afraid that there were some complications.”_ _


	25. Chapter 25

Primus, she was so small.

Drift gazed down at her where she rested inside the incubator, flattening his palms against the glass. The femmeling was so tiny, so fragile as she lay inside the air tight chamber. The swordsmech watched as she twitched in her sleep, her stubby blue fingers opening and closing as she searched for something to hold. But Drift couldn’t even give her his finger to grasp. 

First Aid came to stand at his shoulder, the usual datapad in his hand. “She was born processor dead for lack of nutrition. We lost her sparkspin twice during the procedure. It’s… Don’t tell Ratchet I said it, but it’s really a miracle that she’s online.”

“Can I- can I hold her?” 

The medic shifted his peds, avoiding Drift’s optics. “It might be some time before its safe enough for you to hold her. She’s in delicate condition.”

The white speedster pushed even closer against the incubator until his nasal bridge brushed the shining surface. He was a sire and this beautiful, perfect, innocent creation was his sparkling. And he couldn’t even touch her.

Inside the glass box, the femmeling squirmed, but she had little room to move. Her skinny frame was connected to several tubes and lines, all of them helping her body perform basic bio functions. One tube, inserted straight into her fuel tank, provided processed energon. Another line that ran alongside it provided pain medication to combat the discomfort of the incision in her abdomen. Another tube protruded from her tiny mouth, providing the air that her maldeveloped vents couldn’t quite pull in.

First Aid had explained everything in medical terms and from what Drift could understand, her vents were designed for a grounder frame. But the femmeling had emerged with prominent winglets, a clear indication that she would be a flight frame. The cant and angle of the appendages suggested that she was meant to be a jet.

But with the vents of a grounder, she was predestined to suffer deadly bouts of overheating. It was also found, nearly too late, that the defect resulted in her being unable to breath correctly on her own. Drift had been spared hearing it, but Velocity had compared the femmeling’s labored first vents to metal grating against metal. Her third breath had been a shriek of pain before First Aid had been able to insert the breathing tube. The thought of his little girl in so much agony brought fresh tears to Drift’s optics.

Within the incubator, the femmeling cried out weakly when one of her hands brushed against the soft covers that she was nestled in. Instinctively, her sire scrabbled briefly at the incubator’s glass surface, his protocols demanding that he protect her from whatever was causing her pain. Ultimately unable to do anything, Drift watched, his spark breaking as her face scrunched and she sobbed helplessly inside the glass box.

First Aid had also warned Drift about the oversensitivity in the femmeling’s hands. Within moments of her birth, it became clear to the attending medics that she had been born with medic’s hands. Her baby blue palms held twice the sensors of the average bot. But upon further investigation, they’d discovered that her extreme sensitivity came at a price.

Anything that touched her hands beside’s the air surrounding her caused the femmeling severe discomfort. Despite running several tests, First Aid had been unable to determine if she was in real pain or if it was a reaction to too much sensory information entering her processor. Either way, to see her cry and know that he couldn’t even wipe the tears from her precious face had Drift choking and turning away.

A gentle hand lit on the swordsmech’s shoulder as he fought to collect himself. “I’m sorry, Drift.”

Drift couldn’t keep the tremble from his voice. “Is there anything we can do? Or could’ve done differently?”

“I’m confident that none of this was caused by the trouble she had during emergence.” First Aid guided the distraught sire away from the incubator and back towards the door. “I am working with Lotty on something for her hands and for her venting problems. Would you mind if I brought Perceptor and Brainstorm up to date on things? See if they can figure something out?”

The speedster nodded dumbly as he allowed himself to be steered out of the room and across the medbay. He glanced back once, just in time to see Velocity appear at the incubator’s side. Her face wore a kind, but decidedly sad smile as she gazed down at the sparkling. The door slid closed, blocking Drift’s view. 

“Is- Is she going to die?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it she won’t. Honestly, Drift?” First Aid turned to face the other mech head on when they reached the post-op recovery room. “I think this went better than I expected it to go.”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to be sterile, Drift. She shouldn’t even be possible, but she’s alive. Existing, breathing. Even if it is with help. You and Ratchet have already gotten further than was thought possible.”

Even though Drift knew that the doctor’s words were meant to be encouraging, he couldn’t find the light in First Aid’s words. Perhaps he was selfish to want his daughter to be completely healthy and well, just like Swiftblaze and all of Starscream’s and Wheeljack’s bitlets had been. Maybe he was being unappreciative of the fact that he’d been given a chance at sirehood at all.

“I’ll do everything that I can for her. You know that.”

Drift nodded again, more focused on the door that they found themselves standing outside. He hadn’t seen his conjunx since the surgery as Ratchet’s heavier frame type required more time to purge the sedatives from his systems.

With a flick of his visor, First Aid gave the speedster the go ahead. Drift allowed himself into the room.

Ratchet was reclined on the mediberth inside the room, his field hazy with exhaustion and the remaining effects of medical dampeners. When Drift clicked the door closed behind himself, the senior medic rolled his helm loosely on the fluffy pillow that propped him upright. “’Aid?”

“It’s me, sweetspark.” Drift stepped further into his room, pushing positive energy into his own field as he approached his mate’s side. “How you feelin’?”

The mech on the mediberth blinked blurry optics, clearly still coming around from the surgery. “Where’s- where-“

“She safe and sound, Ratch. Just focus on my voice and relax.”

For the first time tat Drift could remember, the old medic listened and his frame fell lax once more against the mediberth. “She okay? What’s- look like?”

The swordsmech took his mate’s hand into his own, lacing their fingers together. “She’s perfect. So perfect, babe. You did so good.”

There would be time to talk about the femmeling’s medical problems and future plans. But in that moment, Drift wanted to give his spent conjunx what he needed. Ratchet needed to hear the good things right now. The hard parts could come later.

“She’s a flyer, Ratty. She’s all white with violet markings and has these beautiful little winglets.”

“A flyer?”

“Yeah. ‘Aid said it’s her wings that got her stuck in your chamber. Even though she’s so small, her wings are normal size. Hey, guess what?”

“Huh?”

“She’s got medic’s hands. Just like you, babe. She’s gonna be a medic someday.”

Ratchet stirred on the mediberth, his helm lolling until his glazed optics found Drift’s face. A lazy smile formed on the medic’s lips. “Optics?”

Drift paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen her optics yet. “I- I don’t know. I don’t think she’s opened them yet.”

“Hmm.” The new carrier frowned, trying to concentrate on his mate’s words through the drugs numbing his processor. “Is she happy?”

The femmeling’s sobbing face flashed before Drift’s vision. He smiled down at his mate, glad that Ratchet was too drugged to see the tears on his face or hear the static in his voice. “She’s wonderful, Ratchet. She’s wonderful.”


	26. Chapter 26

Drift curled up on the makeshift cot, his optics fixed on the screens behind the incubator. At his back, Ratchet lay reclined on the mediberth, his own gaze focused on the glass box over his mate’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke as they watched their sparkling’s vital signs, waiting or some kind of indication that everything was going to be okay.

First Aid had decided that moving the femmeling into Ratchet’s recovery room would help him recover more quickly from surgery. The only condition was that no one was allowed to touch her. It nearly drove Drift insane, but he would much rather be able to see his sparkling than be forced away from her completely.

Behind the glass, the undersized newborn didn’t move besides the steady rise and fall of her thin chest. The movement should’ve brought Drift comfort, but he knew that she was only breathing because of the machine, constantly pushing fresh air down her intake and out of her vents. Even with no medical experience, the speedster could see that his sparkling’s condition was quickly deteriorating. 

Her plating was brittle and pale; even the faint coloration that she’d been born with had faded to muted pastels with illness. Her tiny hands had been wrapped in gauze, providing her with at least some small relief as the oversensitive appendages were protected from brushing against anything around her.

The new sire stared at his sparkling, unable to draw a single vent without his spark jerking in its chamber. Soon, he knew, their sparkling would be taken from them. 

First Aid had finally broken the news to them earlier that cycle. Despite everything that they’d done to help her along, from the ventilator to the feeding tubes to the stabilizers, it wouldn’t be enough. Now, all they could do was make sure that she was comfortable and out of pain.  
Behind him, the TIC felt his conjunx rustle in the sheets. A quiet grunt reached his audials a klik later and Drift rolled over.

Ratchet was struggling to sit up, his abdominals straining as he tried to kick his peds off the edge of the mediberth. In an instant, Drift was on his own peds and was pushing the medic back down into the sheets. “You can’t tear that incision open, Ratch-“

“I have to see her- I have to-“

This happened every so often throughout the cycles. Ratchet’s carrier protocols made him restless and he tried constantly to reach his first born, even when the movement cause stabbing pain at the freshly healing incision that reached as deep as his gestation tank. Drift knew that it wasn’t his mate’s fault that he couldn’t lie still and recuperate.

By the way First Aid had explained it, Ratchet suffered from a hormonal imbalance due to having not yet bonded with his sparkling. The former CMO could still feel the bitlet’s presence in his spark, but he hadn’t been able to feed her himself or hold her against his plating. Being able to see her helped some, but it was increasingly clear that the separation was beginning to take its toll him.

“I have to be with her, Drift. I have to.”

“Shh, I know. We can hold her soon. We will.”

At that, Ratchet calmed somewhat, just like he always did when Drift said those words. They would, truly, get to hold her soon. That part, at least, wasn’t the lie. 

The lie was that they would be holding an empty, lifeless frame. Not their little girl.

Drift eased his mate back down onto the mediberth and delivered a kiss to his chevron. “Have you thought about names yet?”

The medic on the mediberth never once took his optics of the incubator, his field lashing about and whipping with agitation. “I can’t name her. Not until I hold her.”

“Ratty-“

“She needs to be held, Drift. Please. I need to hold her for just a klik-“

The pleading tone that Ratchet had adopted threatened to break the speedster’s spark. But First Aid had said not to touch her, that it would only cause her more discomfort in her weakened state. As much as Drift wanted to hold his sparkling, just for a moment before she faded away, he couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason that she was hurting in her final moments.

The white speedster pushed all the love that he felt for his mate into his field as he crawled into the mediberth with Ratchet. Careful to avoid pulling on the other mech’s new stitches, he wrapped himself protectively around the medic, making sure that he too could watch the dipping vital stats of his firstborn. “I know you wanna touch her, babe, but it would only hurt her now. ‘Aid said no. We’ll hold her soon though. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

~o0o~

 

I was long passed the cycle change when Drift jerked awake from his recharge.

The first thing that he was aware of was the empty space immediately at his side. There was always someone there to fill that spot. Secondly, he noticed that he was not in his hab suite and thirdly, he remembered that the mech missing from his arms was Ratchet. The fourth thing, and likely the most important, was when he registered the sound that had awoke him in the first place: a monitor blaring a long, constant beep.

The energon in his lines froze at the sound, drawing him the rest of the way from his half-asleep daze. The speedster’s peds hit the floor and he barely took any time to steady himself as he rounded the mediberth, optics searching for-

Ratchet.

Ratchet stood over the incubator, his back to Drift. It took the speedster far too long to tear his optics away from his mate’s outline where the medic was silhouetted against the flashing vital stats screens. Drift found himself entranced by the view of his mate standing over the incubator, gazing down into the-

Primus. The incubator was empty.

Instantly, Drift found himself on high alert, his weapons protocols spinning into high gear. Who would steal a sparkling, and dying sparkling at that? Who would be so cruel to take her away, to rob his tiny, helpless creation of peace and comfort in her final moments? Now they wouldn’t even be able to hold her after-

The bundle in Ratchet’s arms caught the panicking sire’s attention and he zeroed in on it as he recognized the helm that peaked out from the tightly bound ball thermal blankets. He could do nothing but stare as his mate, haloed in blaring red and white, turned to face him, their femmeling cradled in his strong arms.


	27. Chapter 27

“Drift… why’re her hands wrapped up?”

“Ratchet, please put her back-“

“Why all the tubes? You said she was wonderful, Drift. Why is she so- so-”

The carrying mech stared down at his creation, his optics dim with sorrow and barely visible in the room’s darkness. She was so small in his grasp, nearly hidden from view in the cage of the experienced medic’s hands. Drift could see that her tubes and lines, the ones that had been keeping her alive, had been unplugged and removed when Ratchet took her from the incubator.

Slowly and with his hands extended palm outward, Drift stepped toward his mate. “Please, babe, put her back. She needs that stuff to stay alive-“

As he got closer, he could see that Ratchet’s optics were no longer clouded by overactive carrier protocols. His field was clear of the desperation that he’d suffered over the past several cycles, no longer lashing out and searching for the sparkling that he held. 

In Ratchet’s arms, the sparkling lay motionless, her chest no longer rising and falling rhythmically as she vented. When her carrier’s fingers shifted, her helm lolled over his thumb. Drift could see that her tiny mouth had fallen open, free of the tube that she depended on in order to breath.

The former CMO lifted her up and lay her against his chest plating, murmuring so quietly against her helm that Drift couldn’t make out the words. As the speedster crept closer, preparing to the snatch the femmeling from his unwell mate’s grip, Ratchet looked him dead in the optic. “She needs to bond with you.”

The clarity in Ratchet’s gaze caused Drift to stop in his tracks. “No, she needs those machines. She needs to be back in the incubator-“

An unexpected wave of anger entered the doctor’s field, hitting Drift with almost physical force. He stumbled back slightly, optics widening as Ratchet stalked toward him, further away from the incubator. Further away from what their sparkling needed to survive.

The carrier came closer again, this time extending the sparkling out and away from himself, toward Drift. “Bond with her. Now.”

“Ratchet-“

“Who is the medic here?! I said do it!”

The lights in the medbay outside came on and flooded across the floor from underneath the closed door. Soon, First Aid would come in, having been notified of the sparkling’s flatlined spark-

With his spark in his throat, Drift reached forward. He didn’t want to touch her for fear of causing her more discomfort or pain. But when his fingers tentatively brushed against the femmeling’s plating, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and love her and kiss her for the rest of his cycles.

He knew that it was his sire instincts that were reacting to his sparkling’s touch. That it was the sensors in his fingertips that were responding to the feel of his creation’s weight and that the feeling in his spark was just a chemical reaction at work. But even though he knew those things, Drift couldn’t stop himself after that first initial touch. He pulled her limp form to his chest and tucking her beneath his chin. 

Primus help him, he knew that his baby girl was gone and that his mate was likely delusional, the victim of a cocktail of hormones and grief. But all he wanted to do was feel her presence in his spark, just for a moment, even if he had to feel her expire while doing so.

Cradling her strutless body in one hand, Drift watched as his mate’s deft fingers eased open her chest plating. When Ratchet stepped back once more, the speedster was able to see the femmeling’s delicate spark within its chamber, so small and fragile that a single breath of air might extinguish it.

“Bond with her, Drift. She needs you.”

Drift parted his chest plates, suddenly finding himself at the mercy of the femmeling in his hands. He didn’t even know her yet, his precious daughter, and somehow he knew that he needed her spark as badly as Ratchet seemed to think that she needed his.

The light from his spark spilled over her chassis, bathing the deathly pale plating in glorious blue light. Drift bent his helm and kissed her face, just the lightest brush of his lips against her dry forehelm. “I love you, sweetspark. Sire loves you no matter what, okay? So so much. Whether you stay or go… I’ll always love you.”

Without another klik of hesitation, Drift lifted her limp frame up to his spark. Behind him, the door opened and light flooded the dark room.

 

~o0o~

 

At first, nothing happened. Drift closed his optics tightly, waiting to feel her presence the same way that he’d felt Ratchet and Rodimus during his first merge with them. He waited for the rush of memories, the pleasure of a freshly formed bond. But there was nothing.

Then, slowly, he began to sense a kind of pull, or the feeling of something being drawn away from himself. The speedster opened his optics and looked down, squinting against the brightness of his own spark and the newly activated overhead lights of the private room. It felt like his energy was literally being drained-

The femmeling was cuddled up against his spark chamber, her little wrapped arms hanging off to the sides as her spark was pressed firmly against his own. Drift inhaled deeply, savoring the sensation with an odd sense of peace as his spark energy was siphoned away. Strangely, he felt no distress at being fed from in such a way.

Never taking his optics from the sparkling in his chest, Drift allowed himself to be guided backward by a pair of familiar hands. Around him he could feel spiking fields, wild with anger and confusion. He wanted to tell them to stop, that they’d scare the femmeling if they kept it up. But he couldn’t think beyond the little soul feeding life from his spark.

Upon helping his distracted mate sit down on the edge of the mediberth, Ratchet moved himself between Drift and the incoming medic, his field bristling with protective rage. Before him, First Aid came to a nearly skidding stop inside the door, Velocity hot on his heels. The new CMO’s visor flashed brightly as he scanned the room.

When he finally spotted the sparkling in Drift’s hands, First Aid understood. Cautiously, he showed the upset carrier his palms, nudging Velocity back toward the door. “Easy, Ratchet. We heard the alarms and came to see what was going on.”

The other medic’s plating was fluffed up as his gaze flicked between First Aid and Velocity. Though it was clear that Ratchet wasn’t completely lost to the effects of his own coding, First Aid could still tell by his stance that he and Velocity would get no closer to Drift and the femmeling without a serious fight. 

From where he stood, the newly arrived mech could see that the feeding tube and breath tube had both been detached and removed. That explained the flatline alarm then. The machine hadn’t detected a sparkspin because it had been disconnected form the sparkling entirely. 

First Aid was about to suggest placing the femmeling back into the incubator, at least until things were back under control, when he felt it. 

Though barely perceivable in the first place, the sensitive medic felt it against his plating. It was unsteady and weak, likely undetectable by anyone who wasn’t a forged medic. But it was still there, refusing to be ignored. In fact, it seemed rather insistent as it wafted against First Aid’s own sensory net.

A brand new, curious field.


	28. Chapter 28

It wasn’t until Ratchet’s hands encircled Drift’s wrists that swordsmech realized how drained he’d become. It took every remaining ounce of energy from him to keep from toppling sideways on the mediberth that he sat upon. He didn’t want to miss a thing, desperate to feel the presence of his sparkling for as long as he could against his plating and within his spark. 

He growled deep in his throat when his mate moved to pull the femmeling from his hold. “Easy, Drifter,” came Ratchet’s calming voice, “She needs to feed now. So she can bond with me. She’ll need more spark energy soon, don’t worry.”

But Drift couldn’t help but worry, his processor foggy with exhaustion as he allowed his creation to be taken from his hands. With her departure, he felt his remaining strength leave his frame. Fortunately, there were servos waiting to guide him sideways, down into the soft blankets of the mediberth.

As First Aid settled a drained Drift down on the mediberth, Ratchet pulled his daughter to his plating. She was still too pale, too limp in his hands as he manipulated her feed tube. The hose still protruded from her abdomen, only disconnected from the machine that had been supplying the artificially processed energon. With the maneuvering and ingenuity born of one very familiar with sparklings, Ratchet managed to unspool his own feeding tubes while still holding his creation securely against his chest.

Using his denta, the former CMO tore the nubby tip from his feeding line, grimacing at the stab of pain that the action caused. Then, he plugged the freshly bared end into the feeding tube attached to the femmeling’s side.

Ratchet slowly massaged the tube in his hand, like he would her throat if she were able to take food orally. As he did, he was able to see as the first drops of his own processed energon entered the tube and travel into her fuel tank. A few kliks after that, her plating began to gain some color, leaving behind the deathly pallor that it had previously had. All the while, Ratchet rubbed his fingers along the sparkling’s plating, communicating with her through his field and hands as he fed her from his own reserves for the first time.

Unable to do anything but watch in awe, First Aid stayed back and away, allowing the carrier and sparkling their space. He stared, mesmerized, as his former mentor expertly flicked the bubbles from the tubing, ensuring that the femmeling’s delicate tanks wouldn’t have any painful air pockets to deal with. First Aid couldn’t tear his attention away as Ratchet drew his fingertips along the soles of her peds, checking her Babinski and smiling as the toe tips of her tiny peds twitched before flicking upward, away from the stimulation.

“Mm, Ratch… wan’ ‘er back… where…”

Drift was squirming on the mediberth, his optics dim as he blinked sleepily. Gently, First Aid guided the speedster’s helm until he could focus on the sparkling in Ratchet’s arms. “She’s right here. She isn’t far…”

Ratchet neatly disconnected his own feeding tube from the surgically implanted one, not spilling a single drop of precious processed energon as he capped his own line and tucked it away. A klik later, the medic was coming closer to the mediberth, his optics bright and full of fire as he let his field out to wash around the room. “We did it, Drifter. We did it.”

The swordsmech allowed himself to be helped upright, his limbs still shaking with fatigue. Usually, he would’ve had the processor power to thank First Aid for the help. But in that moment, he could only focus on his beautiful mate and the sparkling being lain against his chest. Drift was nearly vibrating with excited energy when Ratchet released the femmeling into his care once more.

When he felt his creation in his hands that second time, Drift fell in love all over again. But somehow, this time was better. He was no longer desperate or as anxious. Instead, he found himself happy in the purest way as she rested in his palms, so tiny and strong. It was a few kliks more before he was calm enough to notice the change that had begun to come over her little frame.

First, he felt her limbs tense up. Then he felt her underdeveloped engine turn over, once, twice.

Drift held her in his palms, disbelieving as his tiny daughter’s vents fluttered open and she began to breath on her own. He stared at her little frame, her delicate mouth as it opened and closed rhythmically, searching for something to suckle. Lowering his helm, the knight pushed his nasal bridge into her narrow chest and inhaled deeply, savoring the feeling as his siring code reacted to his creation’s presence for the second time that night.

She seemed to sense his nearness and turned her helm, her optics remaining closed as she rooted around for her sire. Drift was barely aware that he was doing it as he gently licked his glossa up the side of her helm, purring at her as he did. Immediately, she answered with a weak chirr of her own and pushed up against his lips and nose, trying to get closer to the source of safety that Drift was projecting toward her.

The former buymech knew nothing in the universe in that moment except for the little one in his hands. Just the cycle before, he had accepted her fate, had prepared what he would tell Ratchet when the time came. He had forced himself to be ready for the funeral, the sparkbreak, the tears. But this, this was not something that he had been prepared for at all. He had not been prepared for such a happy ending.

It scared him more than anything he’d ever faced.

Ratchet allowed himself to smile as his mate and sparkling bonded, trading scents and touches. Drift dipped his helm and laved his glossa across the side of her helm, the sharp points of his fangs never once grazing her angelic features. It moved something deep in the old medic to see his mate being so intimate with their sparkling, so instinctively protective of his offspring. To witness his conjunx so immersed in their shared creation caused something in Ratchet’s spark to tingle, fresh with new longing for the one he loved.

Nearby, First Aid continued to observe the interactions between sparkling and sire, unwilling to interrupt the touching scene. He truly wanted to hook the femmeling back up to the machines so that he could check her vitals and administer medications for her sensitivity. But, much like the sparkling’s carrier, he found himself unable to move and interrupt, completely enthralled by the pure quality of what he was watching unfold.

Tiny cloth-bound hands moved to touch at Drift’s cheeks, weakly patting as the femmleing wriggled around. Slowly, the swordsmech onlined his optics from where he’d had his nasal bridge pressed against his daughter’s chest plate. Primus, he couldn’t get over the feeling of her breathing, the pulse of her little spark within her chest plating-

The sire pulled back in astonishment when he opened his optics and found himself nearly blinded by brilliant light.

Drift’s vents stopped when he gazed down into his sparkling’s face, his own smile reflected on the tiny features before him. She was looking up at him, her face peaceful and sleepy as she revved her jet engine. At the look of surprise on her sire’s face, she clicked at him, clearly amused at Drift’s speechless surprise.

Her optics were a dazzling gold, just like Drift’s had been so long ago when he first came online.


	29. Chapter 29

“Do you know what day it is, Ratty? On Earth?”

“No,” the medic answered dismissively, “Why should I?”

Drift gazed down into the incubator, watching as his little one’s peds twitched. Ever since Ratchet had taken her out and brought her back from the edge several nightcycles earlier, she had largely remained in recharge, only waking long enough to be fueled via the tube connected to her tank. The experienced medic insisted that it was normal behavior, especially for a sparkling born in such poor health. But Drift couldn’t quite shake the nervous tension from his plating as he paced the room endlessly, keeping an optic on her at all times.

“Do you know what day it was when she was born?”

Ratchet sighed and lay down the datapad that he’d been trying to read. Really, he hadn’t gotten any reading done at all; try as he might, he too was too distracted by his creation nearby to get anything done. “No, Drift. What day was it on Earth.”

The speedster continued pacing as he spoke, his steps rapid and measured. “Well, I wanted to maybe… I don’t know… I was thinking that maybe we could give her an Earth name? Or a name with an Earth meaning?” 

Drift paused, giving his mate a chance to respond. When Ratchet didn’t say anything, the knight began to quickly backpedal. “I mean, we don’t have to, I was just thinking maybe-”

“Woah, woah, hey. I didn’t say ‘no.’” Ratchet gave his conjunx a smile as the highstrung speedster came back toward the mediberth, his finials pink with blush. “I was listening. What did you have in mind?”

It took Drift a few more kliks to piddle with his fingers before he began to speak. He sat down on the side of Ratchet’s mediberth, taking one of the medic’s hands between his own. “Well… she was born during Earth’s springtime. There’s a celebration there, in a country called Japan and the humans have a tradition where they welcome the spring. It’s called Hanami.”

“Go on.”

“I was thinking about it and she’s kind of like an Earth flower. Small, delicate. Pretty, like her carrier-” Drift chuckled when his mate swatted at his helm. “Plus, when she wiggles her wings, she looks like a happy little flower!”

The swordsmech grinned wholesomely down at his mate before his field grew somber once more. “And she came back to us too. Like spring always comes back on Earth. They celebrate it because the flowers there, the cherry blossoms, don’t last long. They say that their presence is fleeting. Like life.” 

Drift sucked in a vent while Ratchet squeezed the hand holding his own. It was several kliks before he could continue speaking normally. “I thought we were going to lose her, Ratch. But she came back to us, like springtime does on Earth. And I just keep thinking how perfect it would be to name her after something that reflected that.”

Ratchet cast his gaze over to the incubator where their sparkling slept. It was true, she had been on the edge of no return. But she had come back, every bit as resilient as the flowers that returned bright and beautiful every Earth spring. “What was the name you were thinking of?”  
“Sakura.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means ‘cherry blossoms.’ Like the ones that they celebrate on Earth.”

In the incubator, the femmeling shifted, her tiny face scrunching as she woke from recharge. Ever the devoted sire, Drift was across the room in an instant, plucking her drowsy form out of the glass box. Before she even had a chance to cry, the swordsmech was pressing insistent kisses all over her face. “Sire’s here now. You wanna see Carrier? Here we go-”

Holding her securely against his chest, Drift returned to his conjux’s berthside, sitting on the edge and turning so that Ratchet could see. 

The femmeling’s optics were still too dim to be considered healthy, but her plating was nearly at full color. eWhen she’d been born, it had been sickly pale and they’d been unable to tell anything other than that her hands would be blue. But as color came in and glowed throughout her plating, it became even more obvious just how handsome of a sparkling they’d been blessed with.

Her peds were also a deep blue, almost a rich indigo color to match her still-wrapped hands. The same color lined the edges of her winglets as well and her helm, complete with a familiar white chevron, bore the same lovely tint. As time wore on, the tone deepened, filling out and becoming more glossy with every passing cycle. With her base color being white, the contrast was a stunning one to behold.

When streaks of gold began to appear, tracing her transformation seams and lining her optics, her creators were forced to acknowledge that they would have trouble one cycle. She was going to be one beautiful little flightframe. 

As Ratchet studied the sparkling in his mate’s hands, her wings fluttering as she sleepily greeted her sire, he realized that Drift was right. She truly did look like a tropical flower of some kind, unfurling overtime and becoming more gorgeous as she bloomed with health. “What was that name you said?”

“Sakura?”

“Sakura.” Ratchet tested the name on his glossa, rolling the ‘r’ a couple times. Despite it not being Cybertronian in origin. It somehow fit their little miracle girl. “I like it. In fact, I think it’s perfect for her. But no terrible nicknames. It’s bad enough that you call me that insufferable rendition of my designation.”

“You mean Ratty? Its actually a reference to-“

“I don’t care where it came from, just promise me that you won’t start calling our daughter ‘Sakky’ or some other awful slag.”

Drift considered for a moment, playing with the femmeling’s wings as he did. She whistled at him and wiggled the appendages happily. “Okay. Can I call her ‘my Flower’ at least?”

“I suppose that isn’t awful. Not as awful as Ratty it, anyway.”

The swordsmech’s optics twinkled excitedly as he lifted his sparkling up in front of his face. “You hear that, babygirl? You’re my little flower! My perfect, sweet, adorable flower-“

Ratchet looked on, his chest full and his face grinning. The newly named Sakura peeped weakly, sensing her sire’s excitement. Though she could have no idea of what her sire was saying, she squealed delightedly as Drift stood and began dancing around the room. He dipped her and spun her, kissing her face and her chest and anywhere else that he could think of to kiss, drawing high-pitched giggles from his sparkling all the while.

There in that moment, in that private medbay room, Ratchet knew that there was no place he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got to see the early viewing of the Bumblebee movie and... guys. I cannot wait to see it again in a few weeks. It gave me life.


	30. Chapter 30

A soft rapping on the door had Drift sitting bolt upright, his defense protocols spinning online faster than his optics could light. It was a few kliks before he could get himself calm enough to call out a greeting. “Come in?”

The speedster went about rousing his mate as the door swung inward, admitting a familiar orange mech. At the sight of him, Drift smiled widely. “Hey, Rung.”

With an answering grin, the psychiatrist came further into the room. “Hello, Drift. Ratchet.”

The medic in the mediberth struggled to sit up further, grimacing when his abdominal welds pulled. Immediately, Drift helped Ratchet adjust the mediberth until he was upright. When he caught sight of the diminutive mech, Ratchet’s optics grew unusually warm. “Rung.”

Just as Rung was preparing to take a seat on the only chair in the room, a small, curious peep sounded from across the room.

Optics brightening behind his glasses, the orange mech sat straight up in his chair. Drift could see his antennae twitching in interest as he eyed the incubator against the opposite wall. Rung’s field was undeniably hopeful when he looked back at the new creators. “May I…?”

“Of course,” Ratchet said softly, his field encouraging. “She wouldn’t be here without you, you know.”

It might have been unusual for the medic to be so kind and patient. But that was the way he was with Rung, both before and after they’d become amica. The pair had saved each other’s lives, both more than on just one occasion. They knew each other intimately enough that Rung felt no shame of his past in the medic’s presence and Ratchet allowed his guard to completely crumble down into nothing.

On silent peds, the slender bot made his way over to the incubator across the room. His shoulders were slightly hunched, reflecting the uncertainty in the little doctor’s field. When he finally reached the side of the box and looked inside, Rung’s optics flashed brightly and his mouth dropped open. “Why… she’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Thank you,” Drift smiled, taking Ratchet’s hand into his own. The creator’s shared a look before the swordsmech continued. “Do you wanna hold her?”

Immediately, the psychiatrist’s field erupted with excitement that he couldn’t quite hold back. He nodded slowly, still looking down at the femmeling. She chirred at him, a very Drift-like smile on her perfect face. So precious, so innocent. “Yes. Yes, I want to,” Rung managed.

He looked back at the pair on the berth and, receiving an encouraging nod from them both, reached into the incubator.

Her plating was smooth and flawless, new and thin. She was so fragile still, not quite as large as the average newborn sparkling. When Rung lifted her into his arms, she wiggled happily against him, flapping her wings. The psychiatrist lifted one of her bundled little hands to examine it. “Why is this…?”

“Oh. Her hands are medic’s hands, but they’re, uhm- too hot? At least that’s how First Aid described them.” Drift’s smile faded slightly as Rung brought the femmeling closer to them. “We’re trying to figure out how to tune them down. Right now, they’re oversensitive. She can’t touch anything.”

The psychiatrist hummed in acknowledgement and bounced the sparkling in his arms. Sakura blinked large yellow optics up at him, blowing bubbles with her tiny mouth. She seemed particularly fascinated with his antennae, tracking its movement as it flicked with interest on Rung’s helm. When she reached up a cloth-bound hand to bat at his face, the orange mech couldn’t help but lower his helm to hers.

Their forehelms came together with a quiet ‘clink.’ “Hello there, little one.”

Sakura purred loudly, causing her to cough harshly a klik later. She still hadn’t quite developed her vents enough to handle the powerful jet engines housed in her chassis. 

By the time Drift appeared with the femmeling’s oxygen mask, her coughing had tapered off into harsh wheezes. Her little optics were dim as Rung took the mask and pressed it securely over her mouth, cooing at her gently. “Calm down now. That’s it-“

Through the mask over her face, Sakura smiled sleepily up at the doctor, her vents fluttering as fresh air eased the irritation within them. Rung returned the look and caressed her delicate wings as she relaxed once more. Again, she reached up toward his face. “Determined aren’t you?”

Slowly, Rung touched their forehelms once more. More quietly this time and clearly restraining herself, Sakura purred just loud enough to be heard. Her slender frame vibrated with it and she nuzzled up against his cheek, big optics blinking tiredly. The psychiatrist chuckled and, without thinking, kissed the front of the too-large mask.

When he realized what he’d done, Rung pulled his face quickly away. He’d forgotten about his audience nearby. But when he turned, he found their faces soft, both pairs of optics glowing with approval. Ratchet grunted a laugh. “I guess saying that she likes you would be an understatement.”

Upon delivering the oxygen mask to the sparkling’s face, Drift had retaken his seat decide his resting mate. The swordsmech’s smile widened when Rung dipped his helm and kissed the femmeling again, blowing a raspberry on her tummy shortly after. Sakura squealed, the sound slightly muted with the mask, but filled with the innocent happiness that every newborn processes. 

“Hey Rung?”

At the sound of his name, the doctor looked up and away from the giggling sparkling in his arms. Ratchet had sat himself upright on the mediberth, facing him with his legs over the side. Drift sat beside him. It had been him who had spoken. Rung pushed down his anxiety at having their full attention focused on him. “Yes, Drift?”

“We were thinking…” The swordsmech paused, only starting again when his mate took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We were thinking… Sakura needs a secondary guardian. In case something were to happen to us.”

The little psychiatrist stood frozen in place, his mouth dropping open slightly as Ratchet continued. “We wanted to ask if you would be that for her.”

“I- I don’t know what to say-“

“You’ve got time to think about it.” Drift’s field was genuine as it wafted comfortingly against Rung’s plating. “Nothing has to be decided right now-“

“Are you sure you want it to be me?”

The conjunxes looked at each other before Ratchet faced the psychiatrist once more. The medic’s optics were warm, his field sincere. “You are the reason that she is alive today, Rung. We would be honored if you were her secondary guardian.”

Overwhelmed, the orange mech gazed down at the pure little soul tucked against this chest. At some point, her optics had drifted closed and she’d fallen into peaceful recharge, snuggled up to his bare plating. Rung had to think no further as he looked down at that precious face. “Then I would honored to accept.”


End file.
